The Black Dragon Project
by Lassar
Summary: Just what was done to Ian and his fellow Dragons that would make them both supersoldiers and unstable threats to society? If you like your adventures with a dash of science and romance, this is for you. M for a reason, please heed the warning.
1. Default Chapter

Author: Sian

Title: My Lady

Author: Lassar

Spoilers: Hopefully I am only spoiling my fellow fans

Rating: R

Pairing: Oh yeah.

Author's notes: I wrote this in first person so it would flow better. I also think that anything this intimate should be told from a personal perspective. Third person always feels voyeuristic to me. Could be just me; let me know what you think. One more thing, it is a pwp. That means no plot, so don't bitch. I may someday write this into a whole storyline, in fact it keeps trying to create one for itself, but for now it stands alone.

Disclaimers: Don't own it, but if Marc could see his way clear to loaning me Ian I would count myself wealthy indeed…

It is very late; we've been asleep for hours. I drift slowly into consciousness. I lay there enjoying the way the filtered moonlight leaves silvered stripes across the bedroom.I am warm from the heat of your body around me, even though the sheets are still in a tangle at our feet. I cannot see the clock without moving from the shelter of your arms, and I am not curious enough about the time to do that. You are curled around me, legs tucked under mine. Your face is cradled against the curve of my neck, and the feel of your breath across it is giving me little chills that chase up and down my spine. I twist slightly against you just for the sensation of skin on skin. It feels incredible, and I do it again. You shift and murmur something in my hair. I freeze, not wanting to wake you, for I know that you were very tired by the time I finally let you sleep. I smile into the darkness, a very feminine smile. There is something incredibly primal and satisfying about exhausting your lover sexually, especially if that man is a man like you, Ian.

I lay silently, waiting for you to settle back into a deep sleep when you move again. Your hand slides up from my waist to my breast. I can feel your thumb just brush my areola. Blood rushes to the peak, and I can feel my heart pounding against my ribs. Even though you haven't moved an inch, my nipple is hard. I can tell by the heat that a flush has spread across my cheekbones. The tension tightens its coils around me and I strain not to move. Will you move your hand that fraction? The agony of anticipation is delicious. My body tightens as the sensation continues to build, the tension drawing muscles together. I continue to will you to move your hand, but you are not cooperating. 

Finally I am unable to stand it a moment longer, and I twist slightly. Your thumb rasps across my nipple. It is like a small explosion, with the shockwaves traveling through my body and settling between my thighs. I arch against your hand, your name falling from my lips, "Ian…"

I feel you smile against my neck as you whisper, "You held out longer than I thought you would."

"You bastard!"I hiss and try to twist around to face you.

You tighten your arm and throw one leg over mine, pinning me where I am. You burrow your face through my hair until your lips are next to my ear. "Don't be angry, it was exciting to feel the hunger move through your body and know it was a hunger only I could sate." As if you could sense the way your admission weakened my anger, you tilt your head downward and bite my neck. 

"No fair," I gasp as fire shoots through my body. The back of my neck is incredibly sensitive, perhaps one of the strongest erogenous zones on my body. I arch back against you and shudder. 

You smile against my neck again and bite harder. "Am I forgiven?" You whisper, licking the bite and dropping small kisses against my nape.

"N-Oh! YES!" I cry out as you knead my breast and bite the spot where neck and shoulder meet. 

Your grip relaxes enough for me to twist around in your arms so that I can face you. Your hair spills across the pillow like a river and your eyes are the color of molten glass. You smile up at me. Do you know how beautiful you are to me? I lean down and kiss you, drinking in the taste and exploring the textures that are unique to you. No one else has ever tasted this good. I let my palms slide down your chest, adoring the feel of your muscles flexing under my hands. I kiss you again, this time putting all the hunger I feel into it. You make a sound deep in your throat, something like a growl, and your arms tighten across my back to pull me flush against your body. I can feel you, hard against my thigh. I break off the kiss and trail my lips along your jaw line, the beard soft and slightly ticklish. I follow the line to your ear. I run the tip of my tongue around the shell of your ear before catching the earlobe between my teeth. I whisper in your ear, "I love the way you taste. Would you like me to…" I cannot finish my sentence, can't even remember what it was, as you push my legs apart with one of yours and settle your erection between my thighs. 

I bury my face against the nape of your neck and squirm against you. One hand comes down and clamps on the small of my back, the strength of it keeping me from moving my hips again. The other hand slides up my back and clenches in my hair. I feel the fine tremor that runs through your body and I can tell you are calling on the inner reserves of discipline that have served you so well as an assassin. Now I know I am in trouble. The hand in my hair releases its grip and you run your nails down my spine. Your hands move to my hips and you use them to move me, sliding me against your penis. The friction is incredibly exciting, but I want more. I want you inside me. When I try to angle my hips to make that happen, your grip tightens and in a voice rough with barely contained passion you say, "Oh no you don't, my lady. It's my turn to drive you crazy."

I clench my hands, nails sinking into your arms in a vain hope of hanging on to my own discipline. You continue that slow torturous glide. The hunger is eroding my control. I can't focus, can't seem to draw a complete breath. I move my head down your chest, letting my tongue flick your left nipple. I hear your breath catch, and that is all the encouragement I need. I blow a breath across the hard nipple, ruffling the spiral of dark chest hair around it, before taking it into my mouth to suck. One of your hands moves from my hip and clenches tightly in my hair. For a second I think I have sucked to hard, but you only push me tighter to your chest. I bite down, just hard enough for you to feel teeth. The fist in my hair tugs, and I let go of the nipple to follow the pressure. You raise my face to yours and kiss me deeply, tongue thrusting inside my mouth in the same rhythm as the slide had been. I let my nails drag down your chest, deliberately scoring the erect nipples.I watch your eyes grow even darker as I draw my nails down even further. I let my fingernails trail along your hipbones and then along your outer thighs. On the return circuit I trace instead the inner thighs. The muscles are standing out in bold relief, and I play along the delineations. Your hips twitch involuntarily and I grin like an imp. I lean forward and lick the inside of your thigh. You taste of salt and skin, and your scent is pure aroused male. I turn my head slightly and my hair falls like silk across your lower body. I move down toward your knees, letting my hair flow after me. I have never done this, and I don't know how it feels to you so I glance up through the curtain of my hair at your face. Your head is thrown back, and I can see the tendons standing out in your neck. I think it must feel very good to you, so I rise up and do it again. 

As I rise from the second circuit I look down at you. Your hips are arched and your breathing is ragged. Your shaft is standing just under my mouth and suddenly it is too much. I give in to the temptation and take you into my mouth. Here too is the taste of salt and skin, but I also taste desire. I slide my mouth down your shaft as far as I can go, flicking the head with my tongue on the upstroke. "You have the most incredible mouth," I hear you whisper hoarsely.

I brace with one hand to free the other, so I can stroke the rest of your shaft. I work against you faster, wanting you as hot as I am. You have both hands on my head, wrapped in my hair. I feel your hips rocking under me, the rhythm becoming more urgent. You tug gently on my hair and gasp, "I am near the edge of my restraint, my lady."

It is a warning that I choose to heed, this time. I slide my body up yours, reveling in the heat pouring off you like a furnace, until I am looking into your eyes. All time seems to stop. Then you grab my hands and I see a devilish glint in your eyes. With my hands firmly captured, you lift me further up your body. When my breasts are even with your face, you take first one nipple into your mouth and then the other to lick and suckle. With a soft cry I arch my back, pressing even closer to your tormenting mouth. You suck harder and flick the nipple with your tongue before letting me feel just a brush of teeth. If I could catch my breath, I'd beg for mercy. I strain against your grip, not certain I can take much more. You rub your beard across my swollen nipples and the texture is somehow soft and bristly at the same time. I am shuddering continuously now, and I cannot control the soft cries that fall from my mouth.

A small scream of frustration escapes my throat as you pull me away from your mouth. I can see you smile at me with those sensuous lips, and I shiver at the dark knowledge in your eyes. You still haven't let my hands free, and you continue to slide me down your body. I move where I am pulled, still mesmerized by that wicked smile you have. I feel the hard heat of you pressing insistently against me, promising fulfillment. I try to free my hands again, but you still have them firmly caged. You shift me slightly over you, and I can feel the head of your penis just touching the entrance. You flex your hips, the head barely entering me and stop. I am stretched tight in your grasp and can barely move. It doesn't stop me from trying, and I strain to no avail to bring you further into my body. You wait until I still, until I acknowledge that you are in control. In that moment of surrender, you let me slide down your body to meet the hard thrust of your hips. I cry out from the sudden fullness. I clench your hands, now using them as a support as my hips rise and fall over you. In this position the speed and depth are really mine to control.I make each motion torturously slow and long, pulling back until only the tip is still inside me before sliding back down your shaft. I know it won't be long before you take control back, so I am stretching out the pleasure of having you straining beneath me. You push me until I am sitting upright. All the breath leaves my body as I take you so deep I feel like I should be able to taste you. You release my hands. I feel the bite of your fingers over my hipbones and then you move me. I shudder as you take control of the rhythm, forcing me to move over you faster and faster. Each thrust is hard and deep, pushing me closer and closer to orgasm. My head is thrown back, and I can feel my hair cascading over our legs.

"Oh god yes, Ian!" I cry as my body clenches tightly around yours. I throw my head back and let go of my control. The orgasm takes me, and I cannot breathe, cannot see, and cannot think. I don't know how long I am lost in the pleasure, but when I lower my head, eyes so heavy I can hardly keep them open, you are watching me. Your breathing is not as ragged as mine, and I can feel you still hard inside me.

I lean forward slightly, looking down at you. "Ian, I love you." Your midnight hair is tumbling around your face, and I smooth it back gently 

You take my hand and press a kiss over the knuckles like a knight greeting a lady. "I love you, my lady." Your words are courtly, but the heat in your eyes is not. "I love to hear you cry my name in pleasure. I think I will hear you call out for me again, soon."

I swallow hard, knowing it is not an idle statement. You pull out of me, hard and glistening with the proof of my pleasure in the moonlight. I let you position me on the bed, still to lethargic from the afterglow to object. I am now where you were, flat on my back, with you over me. You slide down my body and part my legs. At the first stroke of your tongue I feel the fire so recently doused stir back to life. Soon I am squirming and arching against your hands and mouth. I nearly lose it when I feel you ease a finger into me. Out of a sense of fair play, I give you the same warning you gave me, "Ian, I am going to come if you don't stop."

You slide the finger out of me and move back just enough to look up my body. "Is my lady sure she would have me stop?'

"Your lady would fain you didn't, but your lady would also like you to forget to be a chivalrous knight for once." I look down at you, willing you to understand what I am asking.

I see the light dawn in your eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Very sure." I say, knowing what I am asking for.

"Turn over; I want you on your hands and knees." Your voice is different now, harder.

I do as you command, and feel your hands shift me until I am where you want me. I feel you slide the head of your cock along my clitoris until you find the entrance. This time there is no teasing, no testing, no gradual entrance, and no time to allow my body to adjust to your size. You simply thrust in to your full length all at once, bringing a cry that is half protest and half pleasure from my throat. Using your hands to keep me still, there is no way I can control how deep or hard I take you. It is all I can do is draw breath enough to cry out with pleasure. It is odd to feel so out of control and yet so safe, it must be a measure if how much I trust you. You begin to move against me faster, your breathing as labored as mine. I can feel the orgasm coming again, and I tighten all my body straining to hold it back. You lean down and bite my neck, and the sensation sends me over the edge. "Ian!" I call out your name and feel you thrust one last time before coming inside me. For an eternal moment we are frozen in place, caught up in rapture. Then you lean into me, the pleasure having taken your strength as surely as it has taken mine. I feel you slide out of me and kiss my back.

"I told you I would hear you call my name again." The tone is so smugly masculine that I am not sure I want to turn over and see it mirrored in your eyes, but I do it anyway. I was right; you look just as arrogant as you sounded. It is so different from the insecurities we had dealt with early in our relationship that I let it go unchallenged, except for a punch in the chest before snuggling into your arms. Truth to tell, I am too exhausted to take that on tonight. Or should I say, this morning? I feel you press a kiss on the top of my head and pull me tighter to you, and discretion is suddenly it's own reward.

Fin?We'll see.


	2. Chapter 2: The Project

Author's note: Here it is, just as I promised. Now, I have read that Eric says that Ian is a virgin, and you probably have too. Forget he said it for this fic. 

Chapter 2

   Maybe it was the smart alec comment right before I drifted back off to sleep, but I found myself dreaming about the day we met. It was a cold and bleak November day, even the lab seemed colder than was normal. It was as if winter itself had reached its icy fingers into our underground testing area. I had my clipboard clutched close to my body in an attempt to conserve body heat. I was tempted to let my hair out the tight bun I habitually wore it in for the extra layer it would provide to my neck and back. Only tempted, for I would be out of uniform and in deep trouble if I did. God knew I had caught enough hell for my hair since basic training. The recruiting officer had said that I wouldn't have to cut it, and I didn't, but the powers that be put so much pressure on me that I nearly did what they wanted. But that same core of stubbornness that helped me keep my hair had helped me fight my way into an almost uniformly male area of the military. In fact, I was the only female on the project. I was very excited to be involved in the Black Dragon project. I had never been allowed to work on something with this level of clearance before. 

   I was standing there full of nerves and excitement in equal measure when the doors to the lab opened to admit the test subjects. I could already put names to faces from studying the files, but the flat images and data had done nothing to convey the personalities of the men I would be working so closely with. I stood with the other members of the Bioweapons branch, and made little notes as the men marched past us. I had already been interested in Nottingham, just from the odd gaps in his file. I tried to stay objective as he moved past me, but he had already piqued my curiosity. I am ashamed to admit that I was thinking purely feminine thoughts when he passed near me, all scientific curiosity swept away in a rush of hormones. I even caught myself staring at his butt as he moved down the line to his position. I could not have made an intelligent statement at that moment if my life depended upon it. I was completely ensnared by that incredibly handsome face and tight body. It was totally unreasonable. I was surrounded every day by men in peak condition, some as physically attractive as Nottingham. They had never affected me like this. I even understood the chemical processes driving my body, and it didn't make a bit of difference.

   I silently cursed all the way through the introductions, forcing a smile to my frozen face and nodding as my name was called out. I was going to have to get over this fast, or I would never be allowed to work on something this important again. A few of the other scientists' had made it clear that I already had a strike against me solely based on my gender. If I acted the weak-kneed female I was feeling, it would be kinder to find a cliff to jump off of than face the condemnation. 

   I watched as the men were given their orders and bunking assignments. From now on, these men would receive no outside stimulus. There were too many factors involved to let them move freely, to many things that could trigger reactions. We had found in chimps that even minor contact with non program males ended in violence. Every scientist here knew the interaction protocols and what could happen if they failed to observe them. It was a minimal risk this early, to be sure, but better safe than falsifying a training accident report. The fledgling dragons were given the order to move out. I watched them obey, still struggling to rein in my rampaging hormones. It was nicely ironic that I should now be at the mercy of self engineered chemicals, as I was one of the people who created the serum we would be using on the volunteers. In an attempt to distract myself, I began reciting in my head the chemical composition of every member of the hydroxal group in order. By the time I reached polyhydroxal alkaloids the familiar mantra had done its work. I was wrapped in the sheltering cloak of science again. 

   I turned to the two scientists on my right. Matheson and Weiss were old friends of mine. We had worked on many projects together, hung out on our own time, and got drunk in civilian bars. The last time we had worked together, it had been around Christmas. The Control had been furious with us when we made peanut brittle in the beakers. Hey, they don't call us Muppet Labs 2000 for our good looks! But he had not been amused, and we had all been separated. Odd that we were censured for that, we had done many other things that were far more destructive to our careers.  Either they had forgotten, or they needed our skills too badly to care.

   "So Burke, what do you think?" Weiss asked.

   "Well, they all seem to match their dossiers. We will learn if those psych profiles are correct only after exposure. Just seeing them parade through didn't give me anything." I replied, glancing back at my clipboard to hide my eyes. We knew each other well enough that he would see something was off in my eyes. 

   "What, no women's intuition?"  a familiar voice cut in from the left.

   I very nearly hissed, but got a grip. Ellis was a sexist porcine sphincter muscle whom I had the displeasure of working with for the first time on this project. He was one of the afortomentioned scientists who thought that my lack extant genitalia meant I wasn't good enough for the position. "I do not work that way. I believe in testing and retesting. Only when I have hard data that has been correlated do I form a hypothesis."

   "I got your hard data right here baby." Ellis replied, looking me over like I was filet mignon. The innuendo was so blatant that it could not be ignored.

   "That's not what I heard, baby." I shot back, my voice just a shade away from actual contempt.

   "You heard wrong." Ellis snorted.

   "Doesn't matter what I heard, we'll never know. I have a rule, and I never break it. No contaminating the lab. I will not ever sleep with anyone I work with, or could potentially work with." I drifted off and gave him a measuring look. He didn't have to know that he didn't interest me in the least, which would only make me a challenge. I had met his type before, many times. The secret was usually simple, give them a good logical reason for why you won't screw them, and they could reclassify you as 'one of the guys'. The sooner everyone thought of me like that, the easier my life would be, but Ellis and his cronies had not yet done so. 

   "Really to bad about that rule Burke, you don't know what you're missing." Ellis said, but the challenge in his voice had gone down several decibels. It was enough to give me hope that he would grant me a change of status in his mind soon. 

   "So, you wanna party tonight? You know once the project starts, we'll be confined to base for the duration. It is our last chance to trash a civvie bar and pick up loose women." Matheson broke into my thoughts.   
"Matheson, what am I going to do with a loose woman?" I asked.   
"Give her to Weiss, poor guy can't get laid without help." Matheson chuckled.   
"Oh yeah, twenty bucks says I get some before you do." Weiss said, obviously stung by the comment.   
"Kiss that money goodbye Weiss, the women will never even see you in my shadow." Matheson responded, holding his hand out to shake on the bet.

   I just shook my head. Testosterone really does kill brain cells, I had empirical proof. I tuned the manly braggado out, I had heard it all before. I knew that, short of a miracle, Weiss was going to lose that twenty. Not that he was ugly, but Matheson was more outgoing. Mind, Matheson would get slapped plenty of times tonight before one of the "loose women" took him home, but he would still score first.

     
  



	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3- Ian  
  
The lab was a welcome break from the biting wind outside, but cold nonetheless. Nottingham moved with the other volunteers toward their appointed meeting with the scientists. He was not especially curious about them, having learned early on that scientists were pretty much interchangeable. They were only interested in their work, and it was a cold and dispassionate interest. Truthfully, if Irons had not commanded him to participate, he would not have come anywhere near this place. All the experiments had ever been to him were pain. He would much rather be reading, he had just started Le Secrete de la Chevalier when the summons had come. Somehow he doubted that he would have the chance to finish it here.  
  
None of his reluctance showed on his face. He knew that they had been under surveillance from the moment they entered the elevator going down to the facility. The other men were just as blank, and they all gave off that same quiet sense of danger. Ian was in the company of his peers for the first time in his life, and he wished he had been granted time to exchange information with them. He truly had no one else to talk to as an equal. He was pupil, servant, or subject to every other person he had spent time among.  
  
The steel doors opened into a long white hallway. It appeared to be paint over concrete on closer examination. They were led down to a second door that was hermetically sealed. This was not a good sign in Ian's field of experience. He entered the series of doors with trepidation. They finally entered a large testing facility.  
  
They filed into a large lab. Ian used a combination of peripheral vision and the reflections off equipment surfaces to examine the room. Counting the door behind him, there were three other exits from the room. This suggested to Ian that they were in the public face of the lab, and that most of the real work would take place elsewhere in the compound. He continued to add to his mental layout of the area with an upward glance. This far underground fresh air would have to be brought in. Ah, there were the air vents. They were large enough to climb into, and the locked grating wouldn't be more than a minor inconvenience. He suspected they were alarmed and trapped against tampering, and could probably be cut off from the outside. It was hard to tell without really looking, but it was how he would have done it. Perhaps another opportunity would present itself.  
  
The head scientist moved forward and began speaking. It had all the cadences of a rehearsed speech, and Ian paid him only partial attention. The man introduced himself and his staff and praised them for volunteering for the project. He was in the middle of telling them about how they were going to make history, when Ian noticed a faint scent that didn't belong in a lab. It was slightly musky with notes of amber and bergamot. Perhaps one of the scientists had come directly from his wife to the lab?  
Curious now, Ian let his gaze move over the scientists, noting them as individuals instead of clumps of white coats. Now that he was looking at them, he realized that one of the scientists was female. She was about 5' 9" and had hair pulled tightly into a bun at the top of her head. It was the kind of black that would probably have blue highlights in the sun, but he doubted it ever saw much sun. The skin on her hands and neck were almost as white as the lab coat she was wearing. He couldn't tell anything else about her, she had her head down looking at her clipboard.  
As if she felt the weight of his eyes on her, she looked up at him. Her eyes were the blue of sapphires. Black Irish, some part of his mind registered while he stared. She dropped her head again as if burned. Perhaps she had been. He certainly felt somewhat scorched. Her face had been strong, with high cheekbones. Her hair grew away from her forehead in a widow's peak. She was lovely. He realized with a sense of wonder that he would be spending a great deal of time in her presence. He wondered if Irons had realized she would be here, for he had been very strict about restricting Ian's exposure to women. Then again, she could be part of another test. Irons liked to multitask whenever possible. 


	4. Chapter 4

BD4  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, except for the lab techs.  
  
Author's note: Ok already, more Ian POV coming up! BTW, I know the series says Cathain, but there was a real warrior queen who lived on the Isle of Skye. Her name was Scathan, and she trained King Conchobar .  
  
Ian stood there at parade rest, his peripheral vision still focused on the female scientist. He wished he had paid more attention during the speech, he would have liked to know her name. As it was, he was reduced to conjecture. Would she have an Irish name? Did she know any Gaelic? He could speak and read Gaelic, mostly because several of the Witchblade legends Irons was fascinated with were from an era when the Christian Church had only begun to influence the Gaelic culture. Indeed, when he was young they had gone to Ireland to examine an archeological dig on the Isle of Skye. Irons had been particulary pleased with that venture, as it had yielded to him personal artifacts of the wielder Scathan. She had a famous school, and had trained all Irish warriors of note from her time. He had felt very comfortable there, focused and at peace. The mighty King Conchobar himself had even trained there, although Ian thought he had behaved disgracefully over Deidre. Well, that was not the fault of Scathan, a man must master his own emotions or be mastered by them. Her focus had been the arts of war, not love, and there she had excelled.  
  
"Move out!" The strident voice of the sergeant cut through Ian, snapping him out of his idle thoughts.  
  
Ian turned and followed his new brethren toward the doors on the left. He knew that they were being taken to their new quarters for the duration of the study, but he felt his shoulders tighten. It took him a second to realize it was not anxiety, someone was staring at his back It was odd, he felt no hostility, just extreme focus. Using the reflective surfaces of the lab equipment and the doors, he finally found the source. The dark haired lady was staring in his direction, but her eyes were low. What was she looking at? Before he could try to figure out more, he passed through the doors and lost the angle on the reflection. He filed the question away, he knew he would come into contact with her eventually.  
  
They were assigned bunks, and Ian felt a moment of glee. They were not going to be isolated from each other! He would finally have a chance to talk to others like him. As they all stood next to their new beds, the sergeant gave them their orders. It was all pretty standard, until the last sentence.  
  
"All right men, you're in for a long confinement. You knew that, but signed on anyway. As a reward for volunteering, you are being allowed one last night of liberty. Be back by 0400, or I will personally bust your ass, and you will be out of the project! Am I clear?" Sargeant Leamon growled.  
  
"Yes, Sir!" they all replied as one, and with great enthusiasm. Ian wondered what the others would do with their night. He hoped he could find a bookstore still open, it would be nice to read some more of the 'Secrete de la Chevalier'. If not, perhaps a nice dinner?  
  
"All right my brothers, we have been given our freedom. Let us make our own first mission. Our orders are to get drunk and laid, but don't miss the bus Cinderellas! I do not want to start our first day with a mark against us." The black man that had been briefly introduced to him at roll call as Mobius said, and it was obviously meant for all of them.  
  
Ian watched as the men slapped backs and made teasing comments. It was clear that they all intended to go. Perhaps the book could wait, he wanted to join the rest of his unit. 


	5. Chapter 5

BD5  
  
Disclaimer: If you haven't figured it out by NOW, I am not telling you.  
  
Author's notes: Yeah, I'm an Air Brat. Was thinking about some of the bases I had been on, if there were any supersoldiers I didn't see them either. Dammnit! And no, I haven't slept with Ian. I'm not saying I wouldn't, in fact if the opportunity ever ahem, arose, I would have his clothes off so fast he'd get fabric burn. If Eric Etebari ever reads this, my name is Bob, and I live in Outer Mongolia. (I would die of embarrassment if he knew who I really was, so keep a lid on it at the Con, Ianticipate! That goes double for Beck, Belle, and Rook!)  
  
The bar was crowded, hot, and loud. A haze made of cigarette smoke and intermittent puffs from the fog machine at the edge of the dance floor hung over the crush. It seemed to add to Ian's feeling of confinement. The music throbbed like tribal drums, and really the comparison wasn't far off. The dance floor was a ritual mating display that had only seen superficial changes since the beginning of society.  
  
Ian stood there, not really sure what to do. His beer was getting warm in his hand. Mobius had bought the first round for everyone. He could hardly be churlish and refuse, but Irons did not allow him to drink alcohol. Occasionally he would pretend to drink, and was glad of the dark glass of the bottle. It was hard to tell how much was in it, and it was generic enough that no one knew it was still the first one. The others were well on their way to third or fourth bottles now, and were showing early signs of intoxication. It was fascinating to watch really.  
  
"Nottingham, this is not a hostile situation! Relax!" Mobius had to shout to be heard over the music, but Ian understood him.  
  
"I cannot. There are so many people and the Noise! How is this fun?" Ian truly wanted to know, for he felt he was missing something.  
  
"First time in a bar, huh?" One of the other members said with a grin.  
  
Ian nodded, then wondered if he should have admitted that as the entire group looked at him speculatively.  
  
"Ever been drunk, Nottingham?" Mobius asked, his white teeth gleaming in that chocolate face.  
  
"I have never consumed alcohol before. It was not allowed." Nottingham replied.  
  
"Damn, talk about strict upbringing! Well, we are going to remedy that situation right now. Bartender! Shots! Tequilla!" Mobius flagged the bartender down, and gave him a hundred dollar bill. "Keep it coming until the money runs out, this is for you." He added and gave the bartender a twenty.  
  
The bartender smiled, stuffed the tip in his jar, and lined up the shots. He was used to military personnel barking orders like it was a parade drill. In fact, Jamie preferred it. It beat listening to sob stories from slobbering drunks at the Hilton's bar. They tipped better too.  
  
Jamie watched as they explained to their buddy the ritual of tequila shots. After they had explained it in depth, their leader did a shot. After he licked the salt, he held a lime and a shot glass of tequila out to the dark haired man.  
  
Ian put a layer of salt on his hand as he had been shown, threw back the shot, and tried not to choke. It felt like he had just swallowed thumbtacks! How did Mobius drink this stuff? He sucked the lime, hoping it would help. It did cool the fire somewhat, and was a pleasant flavor.  
  
The rest of his unit went wild with approval. Buoyed up by this sign of acceptance, Ian watched the others do their shots. Several of them made grimaces as the alcohol hit their tongues, so Ian felt that he was not the only one who thought it tasted horrible. To his surprise, the bartender refilled their shot glasses. Were they expected to drink that terrible stuff again? It seemed they were. Everyone else was salting the skin between their thumb and first finger again. Wondering again what he was thinking, Ian followed suit. Everyone slammed their shots simultaneously, and sucked their limes. To his surprise, it didn't taste as bad as he remembered. Ian was glad they were drinking such small amounts, it would not do for him to get drunk. At one swallow at a time, surely he could have a few more with them. It made them happy, and Ian wanted them to like him. Where could the harm be in that? 


	6. Chapter 6

BD6  
  
Author's note: Reviews please! Celtpriest, thanks for the comments. I was going by my Gran's stories. She's from the Orkneys, and I spelled it how she said it. Thanks for the heads up. Everyone else, Celtpriest informs me that you might be more likely to know her as Scathach.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, on the other side of the bar, Weiss and Burke were chuckling as Matheson got shot down again. The blonde hadn't slapped him, but it had been close.  
  
"I don't think that line is working." Weiss helpfully pointed out.  
  
"Where do you get those things anyway?" I cackled. Matheson seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time coming up with bad pick up lines. That or he was naturally that big a jerk.  
  
"What? It was true! I can lick my eyebrows. See?" with that, Matheson licked his finger and swiped it across his eyebrow.  
  
"Well, I'm impressed, but somehow I don't think she would have been." I said between fits of laughter. We had gotten to the bar in time for Happy Hour, and we were all well on our way to being 'very happy'.  
  
Weiss gave me an odd look. He knew I was getting lit, which I usually did not do. I liked to stay sober enough to remember everything, mostly so I could tease them about it later. Not that I was the voice of caution, by any means. Dead sober I'd think of something to do that they'd both have to be drunk to go along with. Like the Pink Tank Incident…  
  
I saw the look Weis was sending me, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to address it. He really was too smart for his own good. I had every intention of getting drunk tonight. Nottingham was dominating my thoughts, even now. Logically I knew trying to drown my problem wouldn't work, but nothing else had managed to get my mind off him. I was getting desperate enough to ask a vague question to my friend. "Weis, what do you do when you are attracted to someone you shouldn't be?"  
  
"It depends, is this someone you have no chance with because of work?" Weis asked penetratingly.  
  
"Yeah, it's never come up before, and I'm really having trouble." I sighed and took another swallow of my beer.  
  
"Well, I find someone else and have sex; it takes the edge off your frustration, if nothing else." Weis said with a grin. "Not to mention, when you've got some strange, your whole attitude improves, making you easier to work with."  
  
I shot him a dirty look, "I am not hard to work with!" As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew it was a mistake. The lady doth protest overmuch and all that…  
  
"Whatever. Look, you have been as tense as a master sergeant at a disciplinary hearing today. Go out there, find someone, and get it out of your system." Weis gestured to the bar at large, "There are plenty of men out there, pick one. Hell, pick two!"  
  
I hated to admit it, but he was probably on target with his advice. It wasn't that I didn't do casual sex, because I did. I just didn't indulge often. This time it just seemed so callous to pick up a man when I was thinking about someone else. However, it seemed a better option than sitting here killing brain cells. Besides, once the hangover wore off, I would be left with the same problem. With a sigh, I slid off my barstool and chugged the last of my beer. "Look, you may have a point. Wish me luck; I am not much of a huntress."  
  
"Oh, I think you could be, if you were after the proper prey." Weis said reflectively. "Besides, when have you ever struck out?"  
  
"Usually it is a case of me accepting an offer, not making it. At least I know what pick-up lines don't work." I shrugged and set the empty bottle down. I moved out into the crowd toward the dance floor. None of the men interested me in the least. There was something wrong about all of them. If I were honest with myself, I would admit that I was searching the crowd for a tall dark haired man, who had the most incredible eyes. I decided to be in denial, and kept walking past the dance floor to the other side of the bar in hopes of finding a suitable substitution.  
  
The world suddenly shifted on its axis, or at least that's how it seemed to me. I could see the entire test group, bellied up to the bar, doing shots. I watched in silent hunger as Nottingham licked the palm of his hand, threw back the shot, and wrapped those incredible lips around a lime wedge and sucked. His eyes were closed and his cheeks hollowed slightly as he drew hard on the green fruit. It took more willpower than was pretty to not stalk over, pull that bit of citrus away from his mouth, and pull his head down to my breasts. I could feel my nipples harden at the thought. I knew I'd better stop looking at Nottingham and pick out a nice uncomplicated man to take the edge off, but I just stood there staring. I couldn't seem to help myself. Twice in one day, struck dumb by the same man. Not good, girlfriend, not good at all. I finally started to pull myself together when Nottingham opened his eyes and caught me staring. 'Fuck! Busted!' was all I could think, pinned under that direct eye contact. I couldn't pretend.  
  
Trapped, I did the only thing I could think of, and strode forward. When you have no adequate defense, go for the offense. "What the hell are you lot doing out here! I know that the Control specified no leaving base once the project officially started!"  
  
There was a moment of silence, then Mobius spoke up. "Sgt. Leamon gave us a last night of liberty." He looked at me calmly, secure in his position. "Almost didn't recognize you without your clipboard. Doc."  
  
"My clipboard is back at the lab, where you really ought to be. I am going to speak to Sgt. Leamon myself in the morning. You are supposed to receive the first set of injections in the morning, but if you body chemistry is off from all the toxins you've put in it tonight we can't. I can't believe it, not even a day into the project and we're going to hit a delay. This is just fucking great!" I growled, this was snafu'ed already. I couldn't do anything about it now, but the anger was better than the lust I'd been feeling.  
  
"Relax Doc, have a shot. Or do you lab types prefer to ingest your own toxins?" Reese said as he held out a shot glass and the salt shaker. 


	7. Chapter 7: Mas tequilla

BD7

Disclaimer: Chlanna nan con thigibh a so's gheib feoil.

Author's note: Who reviews, is rewarded. Thanks to those who took the time to do so! 

 More Ian POV

           Ian was feeling good. He had done four shots now, and the taste was improving upon closer acquaintance. Granted, it was not something he would want to drink on a daily basis, but it was not as bad as it had seemed at first. He did not feel the need to grimace at the flavor this time, which surely was a good sign. Ian was actually getting into the spirit of the whole ritual. It seemed so integral to the experience, he was stretching each action out to savor it. He had a rhythm going now, licking the salt from his skin, letting the tequila burn down his throat to pool in his stomach, then the cool benediction of citrus as he sucked on the lime. Ian was not so wrapped up in it to miss the feeling of being watched though. He closed his eyes as he sucked the lime, trying to get a sense of where the gaze was coming from. When he opened his eyes, he was staring directly at his watcher. Ian was stunned. He was staring directly into the sapphire eyes of the doctor from the lab. He noted her dilated pupils and the flush on those high cheekbones and assumed she was as surprised as he was.

           Mobius noted the direction of Nottingham's stare, and whistled. "Now that is what the Bible meant about Eve tempting Adam with the apple." 

           Ian started slightly, and took in the rest of the good doctor's attire. She was wearing a candy apple red dress, cut to show a lot of cleavage. Her skin seemed as white as the flesh of a newly cut apple. Or newly bitten…Ian found himself wondering what it might be like to take a bite for himself. 

           "Mobius, I must agree. That is definitely forbidden fruit, but forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest." Beck pointed out with an appreciative leer.

           "I think the fruit is about to bite back." Rook noted, as the doctor closed with them. Her expression was far from pleased.

           "What the hell are you lot doing out here! I know that the Control specified no leaving base once the project officially started!" she was upset. Her eyes were glowing and her color was high.  
            There was a moment of silence as we all looked at each other, and then Mobius spoke up. "Sgt. Leamon gave us a last night of liberty." He looked at her calmly, secure in his position. "Almost didn't recognize you without your clipboard. Doc."  
             "My clipboard is back at the lab, where you really ought to be. I am going to speak to Sgt. Leamon myself in the morning. You are supposed to receive the first set of injections in the morning, but if you body chemistry is off from all the toxins you've put in it tonight we can't. I can't believe it, not even a day into the project and we're going to hit a delay. This is just fucking great!" she was getting more upset, the complications were obviously compounding in her mind.  
             "Relax Doc, have a shot. Or do you lab types prefer to ingest your own toxins?" Reese said as he held out a shot glass and the salt shaker. 

              Ian looked at him with shock. If he had treated one of Iron's rages so cavalierly, he'd have earned a beating, at the very least. 

              "What?" the doctor seemed shocked by the question, and then she relaxed. "Well, it's done now. Fuck it. I'll take that shot Reese, and I thank you."

              "So Doc, what brings you here? A little search and destroy?" Mobius probed as she sprinkled some salt on her hand.

              "Actually, I came with friends, but they are trying to get laid, and I was cramping their style. I decided to take a little stroll and give them a chance." She chuckled and shook her head. "I'm not sure it will help though. Mattheson's pick up lines are pretty weak. I sure wouldn't fall for them."

               "What would you fall for Doc?" Beck asked hopefully.

               "Ha. Ha. Forget it Beck, I read your file. No way," she said and threw back the shot. She sucked the lime with obvious relish.

                Ian's gaze was riveted on her lush mouth. He wondered if she knew what she was doing to him. He could feel the flush rising in his cheeks as his body heated. He was suddenly caught up in a vision of her mouth under his. Suddenly all those educational tapes Irons had had him watch seemed far less clinical. His wayward imagination replaced the women with her, and the men with him. 

               "What did it say?" Beck seemed affronted.

               "You really want me to discuss it in front of your unit?" she arched one eyebrow.

               "They're gonna find out about me eventually, Doc." Beck grinned. 

                "Let's not ruin the surprise." The doctor rolled her eyes.

                "Doc, is Leamon really in trouble for letting us out tonight?" Reese changed the subject.

                "I don't know. It's not up to me. I have nothing to do with that chain of command. Bioweapons is a completely different world, with its own hierarchy. I suppose he'll catch Hell if it wasn't cleared through proper channels on his end. If he did file a request and it was granted, his ass is covered." She shrugged, which caused the dress to flash even more cleavage. 

                 Ian had just about refocused on the discussion at hand when she did it. His thoughts caromed off again. He knew he was staring, but she didn't seem to notice. Unfortunately, she was the only one not to notice. 

                  Mobius got a good look at the poleaxed expression on Nottingham's face. He had already noted the Doc's unwillingness to look in Nottingham's direction. It was easy enough to put one and one together. Smiling to himself, he gestured to the bartender for more tequila. As the shots were lined up, he stopped everyone from grabbing their drinks. "Gentlemen, and I use the term loosely, we have yet to initiate Nottingham in the fine art of body shots."

                 "That's right! This is Nottingham's first time drinking!" Rook backed Mobius instantly. 

                 "Body shots?" Ian asked with some trepidation. This sounded less like a drinking thing, and more like something you'd do in combat.

                 "Never been out drinking before?" the doctor cut in, surprise evident in her voice.

                 "Nope, but we're corrupting him. First the liquor, then the wild women...speaking of which, we need one to demonstrate the body shots." Rook said and began looking around for a likely candidate.

                 "Why look, when the Doctor is in?" Beck pointed out. "Unless she's chicken…"

                  "I have never backed down from a dare in my life. You're on! Pass the salt Beck, and get out of the way. The doctor is about to operate." She had a devilish glint in her eye.

                   Ian froze, suspecting this was how deer felt when headlights shone on them. He was rooted in place as she approached him, salt shaker in hand. She looked up at him, and made an imperious gesture toward the barstool. 

                   "Sit. I cannot reach your neck from down here." She pointed again when Ian did not move.

                   "Why not just go for something…lower?" Beck said suggestively.

                    "I haven't had that much to drink Beck. I still remember that I have to work with you lot tomorrow. If I do it anywhere else, I'll spend the first week of the testing catching crap from all of you." She gave Beck a look that promised much pain if he so much as breathed a word of what was happening.

                   Ian sat, wondering what he was getting in to. "Ok Doc, I'm sitting. What now?"

                   "Tilt your head a little to the side. And please, for tonight, call me Moira. Burke or Doc at the lab, though." Moira said as she stepped between his legs. She licked his neck. It was just a quick darting of tongue, but it sent shivers through his body. She salted the area she had licked, and then looked into his eyes. He was almost afraid of what was going to come next. His heart rate was accelerated, adrenaline was pumping through his system, it felt as though he were about to enter combat.  


	8. Chapter 8:Montezuma's Revenge

BD8  
  
Disclaimer: There is such a thing as too much, especially tequila.  
  
Author's note: Never go out drinking, if it's your first time, with a Special Forces unit  
  
  
  
I could hardly believe what I was about to do. Surely it was the height of madness to be doing a body shot with the person I had come out drinking to forget. Damn that Beck! Well, and to be fair about it, damn me too. I should never have accepted that dare. It was a problem I had had since childhood. I had done some colossally stupid things just because someone implied I would be chicken if I didn't. I guess some things don't change, no matter how much time passes. Here I was, a mature adult, being goaded into something very unwise. I could still taste him on my tongue. Just that one quick lick to anchor the salt, and I knew that I was in real trouble. He tasted incredible, and I had to restrain myself from lingering. Nottingham smelled wonderful too. Was there no justice? Now I would have both his scent and his taste to flesh out, so to speak, the fantasies.  
  
Ok, enough stalling. I can do this. The longer I stand here, the worse it will be. Just get it over with. I salted the spot I had licked and wondered how I was going do this without giving myself away. The little pep talk was just talk, I was really afraid of showing that I wanted Nottingham. It would be certain death in the lab if anyone knew. They would question my fitness to be on the project, and rightly so. I held the thought of a review board in my mind, and looked up at Nottingham. Our eyes met, and I saw uncertainty in his. I kept forgetting that this was his first time out drinking. He had no idea what was about to happen.  
  
Feeling a little guilty for leaving him in suspense, I explained, "Ok, Nottingham, I am going to lick the salt off of your neck, slam the shot, then lick the lime juice off…" I drifted off, as I realized I had not squeezed the lime yet. "…here." I squeezed the lime above where I had placed the salt. It was the least offensive place I could think to do it. "Got it?" I asked.  
  
"I believe so. I just sit here and let you do all the work. It is not a particularly difficult assignment." Nottingham replied. He started to slide off his barstool, and then caught himself.  
  
"Well, she forgot to tell you something. The Doc's gotta drink the shot from your mouth. When she licks the salt, put the shot in your mouth. Then give it to her." Rook added with a grin.  
  
"If you manage a little tongue action while you're at it, you'll be my hero." Beck encouraged.  
  
"Where did you learn to do body shots? Around here we don't do that!" I protested. The idea of Nottingham's tongue in my mouth had brought a flush to my cheeks that I hoped would pass as outrage, not desire.  
  
"That's how Black Dragon's do body shots, Doc." Rook said, "I can demonstrate if you want."  
  
"No thanks, one virgin Dragon is about my speed. You are way to fast for me." I replied. I looked back at Nottingham and tried to give him an out. "We don't have to do it that way."  
  
"If that is how the Black Dragons do it, then that is how it must be done." Nottingham's speech was a little slurred, but his determination came through.  
  
I wondered how much alcohol they had already poured down him. He seemed to be having trouble staying on the barstool too. Both were signs of advanced intoxication. Maybe he wouldn't remember in the morning… I leaned down and licked the salt.  
  
Nottingham poured the shot in his mouth, only to find that holding it on his tongue was not the same as pouring it down his throat. His stomach must have gone into instant revolt, because I could see him turn green the moment he lowered the shot glass. With the instinct born from long years in the service, I dodged. Beck was not so quick. Nottingham bowled him over in his rush to get to the latrine.  
  
Part of me was relieved; part of me was contrarily disappointed. "So guys, how many did he have?"  
  
"One more than he should have, I would say." Mobius said with a slow smile. He alone had not been laughing at Nottingham's retreat.  
  
"Ah, it's just a facet of his training that needs some work. We'll get him up to speed, never fear." Rook chuckled.  
  
"I should go check on him. He probably thinks he's dying." Nicolli said as he pushed away from the bar.  
  
"You may need a hand with our boy. I'll come with you." Taurins added, and followed Nicolli to the bathrooms. 


	9. Chapter 9: Prayers to the Porcelain God

BD9  
  
Disclaimers: me, money? Hah!  
  
Author's notes: Sorry for the hiatus, first there was Coronation, and then my hard drive was fragged. It took everything I had been working on down with it. This is an interlude to tide you all over while I try and recover what I can.  
  
Ian was hanging on to the cold porcelain of the toilet, his burning head resting on the blissfully cool surface. He was terribly embarrassed by his inability to drink like the others; the scorching humiliation was almost as strong as the fire in his gut. He was sure they were at the bar laughing at him while he lay here dying. He was vaguely aware of the door to the bathroom opening and closing as men filed in and out. He didn't even glance up to see them, to check for possible threats. He really didn't care if someone walked in and shot him in the back of the head while he slumped defenseless in the stall. In fact, he was rather hoping someone would.  
  
The door banged open again, just another background noise. Ian was wishing the buzzing would go away that had begun to fill his ears. It was very annoying. At least the light in the room was getting dimmer. It had been painfully bright when he had come in. From far away he could hear Nicolli talking. He tried to focus, but the darkness sucked him mercifully under.  
  
"Man, I think he's out cold." Nicolli said in concern.  
  
"We shouldn't have encouraged him to drink all that tequila, it would have dropped an even more experienced drinker, much less someone who's never had it in his life." Taurins sighed, feeling guilty. He knew that Nottingham was going to have a hellacious hangover in the morning.  
  
Nicolli and Taurins reached down and pulled him out of the stall. They propped him up by the sink and tried using cold water to revive Nottingham. When that didn't work, Nicolli tried the pressing on the nerve behind the jaw, then the sternum notch; an old paramedic trick that was used mostly to roust career drunks. When neither brought Nottingham back to consciousness, they looked at each other over his head.  
  
"This is not a good sign. I think he may have alcohol poisoning. Go get the doctor." Nicolli said resignedly.  
  
"One physician, coming up." Taurins turned for the door then stopped. "You want to try and get him out of here first, or should I bring her in here?"  
  
"If he gets sick again, it would be better if he were in here. I'm sure Doc has seen men piss before. It's part of her job description in all probability." Nicolli shrugged. He had training as a field medic, and knew you lost any squeamishness about bodily fluids pretty early on, or you dropped medicine.  
  
"True enough. I will bring her in here." So saying, Taurins headed back out into the crowd. He made it to the bar slower than he wanted to, but any faster and people would have wondered what was going on. Somehow he knew that Nottingham would want as few witnesses to his humiliation as possible.  
  
"So, how's Nottingham doing?" Moira asked in concern as soon as Taurins drew even with her.  
  
"Not so good Doc. Nicolli thinks he's got alcohol poisoning. He sent me to get you. They are still in the bathroom, Nottingham is unconscious and won't wake up no matter what tricks Nicolli tries." He leaned down to tell it to her quietly. The only other Black Dragon close enough to hear it was Mobius, but he had not laughed at Nottingham, so Taurins didn't worry about him overhearing.  
  
Moira went straight into doctor mode, without passing go or collecting two hundred dollars. She moved at a brisk pace toward the men's restroom. Alcohol poisoning was not something to fool around with. She needed to get Nottingham back on base and start pumping him full of saline to flush his system and rehydrate him. She opened the door to the men's room with Taurins and Mobius on her heels. She didn't spare a glance for anything but her patient. He was out cold still, propped up by Nicolli, who was currently checking his pulse. Nottingham's color was off, and he was sweating. She cursed male bravado under her breath and moved forward to check his heart rate for herself. Moira found it thready and uneven, his breathing was shallow. "Ok, lets get him in my car. He's done partying for tonight. So am I, it would seem. I will take him back to the lab and get him back to normal. You all owe me for this."  
  
"Understood Doc." Mobius said with a short nod, then he slipped one of Nottingham's arms over his.  
  
He and Nicolli half dragged, half carried, Notttingham out of the bar and to Moira's car. They settled him in the passenger seat and strapped him in. Before closing the door, Moira rolled the passenger window down. The air would feel good to him. Hopefully, if he had to be sick again, he'd do it out the open window instead of in her car. 


	10. Chapter 10: Carsick

BD10  
  
Disclaimer: Only the scientists are mine.  
  
Author's note: This is for Chris. Here's your fix.  
  
I looked at my unconscious passenger and felt my throat tighten with concern. I was feeling a little guilt as well. I know I wasn't there for the beginning of the drinking, but I hadn't done a thing to discourage it once I arrived. I knew Nottingham was drunk, but I didn't realize how much he had consumed. I just hoped I could get him back to the lab without being seen by any of the other lab personnel. Not even I could blarney my way out of a fraternizing charge if I was caught dragging a drunken test subject through the halls.  
  
"Uhnn," Nottingham stirred. He moved a little against the seatbelt, and his eyes opened to take in his surroundings.  
  
I was surprised to see him awake, as most people would have still been unconscious, but pleased. "How do you feel Nottingham?"  
  
"Like something died in my mouth," Ian replied. His speech was still slurred, but understandable. He rolled his head so he could look at me and tried to straighten up. The movement was too much, and he was sick all over the car and it's driver.  
  
I cursed him roundly in English, and then fell back on Gaelic when I ran out of words foul enough to describe my disgust. No way was I getting back on base without comment in this condition. The MP on duty would remember my passenger and myself. Our condition and identity would be common knowledge before I parked the car. Not that I could blame him, it would be something I would remember and pass on.  
  
I was fairly close to Weis's off-base apartment. He kept it for parties and getting laid. I knew where he kept the spare key. I would just let myself in and use the shower, then clean up the car. I hoped I could get everything cleaned up and be out of there before he showed with his flavor of the night. At least I didn't have to worry about alcohol poisoning. Nottingham was conscious, however much he was probably wishing he wasn't, so he could not be in as bad a shape as I had feared. I could pour water down him at Weis's then have him shower, and that would get him on the road to rehydration well enough.  
  
I turned left at the next intersection and after a few blocks pulled into the parking lot of a small apartment complex. Weis's car was not there, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I really had not been looking forward to the teasing he would heap upon me if he saw me covered in vomit. I hoped the regurgitated tequila would not stain my dress. If it did, I was going to be furious. I guess I should be thankful there were no unidentifiable chunks.  
  
I got out of the car and went over to the passenger side door. Nottingham was fumbling with the seatbelt when I opened the door. His motor control was still shot, obviously. I sighed and leaned across him to unbuckle it. As I unfastened the strap, his breathing changed, coming more quickly and shallow. I looked up at him in concern, only to find his eyes were filled with desire. I was suddenly aware of the fact that I was basically sprawled across his chest. My breasts were pressed against him, and the tips hardened as I watched the hunger move across his face. His hands came up and grasped my shoulders, pulling me tighter to him. For one moment I stayed quiet in his grasp, savoring the solid masculine body under mine. I honestly cannot say what would have happened next if another car hadn't pulled into the lot.  
  
Fortunately it did, and I pulled away from Nottingham. "Can you get out of the car, or do you need help?"  
  
"I shall manage that much," Ian replied, and then he grasped the frame of the car to heave himself forward. He overcompensated and almost knocked me over coming out.  
  
I managed to keep us from going down in a heap somehow. Once he was steadied, I slid under his arm and braced. "Ok, we need to go that way."  
  
It was an interesting twenty feet from the car to the door of the apartment building. Nottingham staggered and wobbled, but we got there. I opened the door and we lurched down the hall. Thankfully Weis had a room fairly close to the entrance. We only went a few more feet before reaching it. I propped Nottingham up against the wall and stuck my hand into the artificial garland wreath he had nailed to the door. Behind a cluster of blue flowers the key was wired in. I untwisted it and pulled it out.  
  
"That is not very secure," Nottingham noted.  
  
"It's not my apartment." I replied as I unlocked the door and returned the key to its hiding place.  
  
I helped Nottingham in and closed the door. We went directly to the bathroom. I sat him down on the stool and knelt. As I began unlacing his boots I said, "We're going to get you cleaned up. The shower will also help somewhat with your dehydration. You will need to drink lots of water afterwards to continue to flush the toxins out of your system and bring fluid back to your tissues."  
  
"Why are you helping me?" Ian asked softly.  
  
"I like you, you deserve better than to get bounced because your new brethren thought it would be funny to get you drunk. I am amazed at how quickly you are recovering though. You were damn near to needing hospitalization less than half an hour ago. Now you're simply drunk." I said in consternation as I pulled off his jump boots and socks.  
  
"I have always healed quickly. It is a useful ability." Ian replied, surprised at Moira's gentleness. After the disaster in the car, he had expected abuse. Instead he was getting compassion.  
  
"Well, are you healing quickly enough to handle the rest, or do you need help? Be honest. I am a doctor, it won't be the first time I've stripped and bathed an adult male who was in no position to take care of himself. It won't bother me a bit. " I was lying through my teeth. It would bother me to see him naked. I wasn't sure if my physician's façade was up to the stress of stripping and bathing Nottingham. I would be tempted to take advantage of the situation, sorely tempted. I was not sure if I could pull it off. 


	11. Chapter 11: Unveiling Ian

BD11  
  
Disclaimer: Ian is not mine, the rest of the Dragons know who they belong to, Moira is mine  
  
Author's notes: Yes that is Rook, Beck, Paula, Diane, and a few others who have yet to appear. I couldn't find any names for the Dragons except Mobius and Ian, so I appropriated (with permission) theirs.  
  
Ian looked down at Moira; the room was still spinning, but nowhere near as alarmingly as when he first exited the car. It felt good to have his boots taken off, he was still feeling overheated from the combination of the alcohol and the incident in the car. He knew she was not as unaffected by him as her brisk demeanor would suggest. He could still feel the imprint of her body on his. He suspected that if the blinding flash of headlights from the incoming car had not broken the mood, they would still be in the vehicle doing things he had only dreamed of.  
  
Moira pulled his last sock off and said, "Well, are you healing quickly enough to handle the rest, or do you need help? Be honest. I am a doctor, it won't be the first time I've stripped and bathed an adult male who was in no position to take care of himself. It won't bother me a bit. "  
  
So, it wouldn't bother her a bit would it? Ian felt perversely challenged by her statement. "I don't know Doc. Help me with my shirt and then let's see if I can stand unassisted."  
  
"Ok Nottingham, we'll take it one thing at a time." Moira swallowed audibly and stood up. She moved between his sprawled legs and began unbuttoning his shirt. He was wearing a t-shirt underneath his b.d.u. shirt. Moira pushed it off his shoulders and down his arms. She laid it on the sink and stared at his waistband, where the t-shirt was tucked in.  
  
"If I am to call you Moira when we're off base, you should call me Ian." Ian replied, breaking her stare. Truthfully the direction of her gaze was having a strong, but not unpleasant, effect on him.  
  
"Very well, Ian it shall be. But right now let me continue to call you Nottingham; I need for this to be all business. Calling you Ian won't help me do that." Her hands flexed nervously and then reached down to pull the cotton top out of his pants. It came up with some difficulty, finally releasing after a sharp tug that caused Moira's fingers to graze his nipples as the fabric raised up.  
  
That accidental touch sent fire through Ian's body. He had to stifle a moan, if Moira knew what she was doing to him, she would probably stop. Ian did not want to stop. In the back of his alcohol soaked brain there was a little voice screaming that it had gone far enough, that Irons would not be pleased if he didn't send her away. Ian resolutely tuned the voice out. He was tired of listening to it. He always obeyed it, but not tonight. He was feeling rebellious, and somehow immune to the consequences of his actions.  
  
"Ok, lets get you up, I mean umm, on your feet." Moira stammered, flushed.  
  
Ian knew what she meant, but wisely refrained from telling her so. He was already 'up.' As soon as he was on his feet, Moira would be confronted with that fact. Not bothered, HAH! The good doctor was exceedingly bothered, and all because of him. It was a new feeling, headier even than the tequila, this sense of masculine power. Ian gloried in the reaction his bare torso had elicited from Moira. She was still staring, hands kneading his t-shirt absently. Deciding to test his newfound power, he reached out and slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders, making sure his forearms grazed her breasts.  
  
Moira jumped at his touch, but leaned slightly into his hands. Ian was pleased to note that he could see her nipples through the thin red silk. Using her shoulders for support, Ian managed to get to his feet. He swayed slightly as his head protested the sudden change and his stomach lurched, but he did not feel compelled to vomit. Ian doubted there was anything left in him to throw up, but he was glad not to find out.  
  
"I am up, but I do not have the balance to stay standing and remove my pants. I am sorry. It appears I will need your assistance." Ian said, striving for an apologetic tone. He wasn't feeling a bit sorry, but he had long practice schooling his voice.  
  
"It's all right Nottingham, just hang on to me. I'll get them." Moira soothed, so Ian assumed his voice had sounded suitably penitent.  
  
"I'm never drinking so much again. Being this out of control is embarrassing." Ian continued in the same tone. Whatever his voice may have portrayed, inside he was feeling very smug. Moira was so rattled she had to use his last name to generate an artificial distance from what she was doing. He wondered how that was going to hold up once she started unbuttoning his pants. His cock was pressed tight against the button fly; there would be no way to ignore it  
  
As if his thought had been a prompt, Moira reached slowly toward his fly. Her fingers brushed over the hard ridge of his arousal as she popped open the first button. She gave a soft little whimper of hunger and froze. Ian could see the aroused flush on her face, could feel her struggle for control in the tremors chasing through her frame. She took a deep breath and opened the second and third buttons gingerly, trying very hard not to touch anything but cloth. The light little glancing touches were driving Ian mad. He fought the urge to close his eyes in bliss, not wanting to miss a single moment of her undressing him.  
  
The last two buttons gave, and Moira pushed them down over his hips. Normally they would have just slid down, but Ian had to stand with his legs fairly far apart for balance. "Damn it damn it damn it. Nottingham, hang on to the wall for a minute, while I get these off."  
  
Ian moved his hands from her shoulders, one to the wall and the other to the door of the shower. As soon as he was steady again, Moira knelt between his legs and pulled the pants down to puddle at his ankles. Ian looked down the length of his body at her. Her face was perilously close to his groin.  
  
The little voice in the back of his head howled in protest, Irons had forbidden him any contact with women. Kenneth always said they would make him weak, distract him from his mission. Well, he was already in a weakened state, and there was no mission, so the Hell with it. He swayed slightly, as if he were losing his balance. Moira immediately grabbed his hips to steady him, the side of her face pressed against his erection.  
  
A moan was dragged from Ian's chest. He let go of the shower door and reached down to wrap his hand in her hair. 


	12. Chapter 12: You deserve better

BD12

Disclaimer: Yeah, when Kenny wears a pink tutu.

Author's notes: Groveling will get you everywhere.

          Ian groaned as Moira rubbed her cheek against him. He could feel her breath against his skin, then her lips, as she kissed his hipbone. It was all he could do not to use the fist buried in her hair to move her mouth where he wanted it most. He sighed her name as she leaned back, her hands still holding him steady. When she raised her eyes to his, he saw the indecision in them. "Moira, please…"

          The longing in his voice and raw hunger in his eyes would have taken a stronger woman than her to ignore. She slid one hand from his flank to his shaft. Watching him closely, she grasped him gently and stroked. Ian's head dropped back and he gave a soft cry. Moira watched his reaction with pleasure, and then she stood up, keeping the rhythm steady. She reached up with her free hand and untied the bow that held her wrap dress together. It slithered over her body to pool on the floor, leaving her wearing just her matching red bra, panties, and heels. "Ian, let me catch up. I feel overdressed."

         Ian made a soft sound of disappointment as she took her hand away from his throbbing cock. 

         Moira looked up at him with a slow feminine smile for the involuntary sound, "Slowly Ian, slowly. It's too nice a job to rush."

         He was not so sure about that. If his balance would just return, he'd be only too willing to try doing it up against the wall. Right now, in a frantic, violent rush that had her screaming out her pleasure under him. He had seen it done in a movie once, and he was confident he could replicate the position. 

        Moira reached for the clasp on her bra. She could see the silent disagreement in his eyes, and felt a little frisson pass through her frame. She undid the front hook and peeled the cups back slowly; just to show him she was not intimidated. 

        Ian slid his hand from the back of her neck to her breast. He cupped it in his palm and kneaded it gently. He was amazed at how firm and yet soft the flesh was under his hand. He rubbed his thumb across her nipple and watched it tighten even more. Now it was his turn for a slow smile as Moira closed her eyes and moaned. He tugged gently on the tip, and then rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. Ian was enjoying putting to the test the techniques he had heretofore only observed or read about. He was thankful for the tequila he had consumed. He would never have had the courage to fly in the face of Irons wishes without it, nor the confidence to seduce Moira without regard for his own untried status. 

        "Oh God Ian, that feels so good." Moira whimpered. It was getting hard to think. They were in here to shower right? Yes, that had been the plan. With a sigh of regret, she moved away from his hand and turned the shower on. The mundane concern of turning on the faucets penetrated the haze in her brain. What was she doing? She would have to deal with this man at work. How could they go back to just business at the lab if she did this? Then she felt Ian's hand stroking her, and all her concerns shredded under the weight of the desire his touch brought forth in her.

         Ian nearly lost control when she leaned over to turn on the water. Moira was only wearing red thong underwear, and the view was making him incredibly hot. Once again he debated the feasibility of pushing aside that little scrap of silk and taking her now. He reached out and stroked her basically bare ass, letting his hand graze the red silk. She leaned into his touch with a purr of approval, then adjusted the temperature of the water and turned back to Ian. She kicked her heels off and slid that little red thong down her legs. 

        She stepped back into the shower and held out her hands to him. Ian moved carefully into the shower, his thoughts completely focused on the sleek female body in front of him. He let her guide him until he was leaning against the shower wall. Once he was braced, Moira reached for the soap. She worked the bar in her hands until she had a respectable amount of lather, and then passed the bar to Ian. She began to rub her soapy hands over his chest while Ian held the soap loosely. He was glad for the wall behind his back, as he was not certain of his ability to stand on his own.  Moira surveyed her handiwork with pleasure. The suds were largely washing away under the water sluicing over them, but some remained strategically situated around his pectoral muscles. She trailed a finger through the bubbles around his right nipple in a tightening spiral until she reached the hardened nub. She returned the caresses she had so recently received, interested to know if it would drive him as crazy as it had made her. 

       Ian trembled under her ministrations. He felt the soap being taken from his hands. She lathered up again and this time she wandered down his abdomen to his straining cock. He wasn't sure how much more he could take without exploding in her hands. His control had never been tested in such a manner. Pain, yes. Pleasure, no. He honestly didn't know what his breaking point was in this situation, or even what the edge of that point would feel like, but he suspected he was close. The water beat over his body as Moira knelt. Was she going to?? She was! Ian watched in fascination as those full lips parted and she licked the length of his erection. She kissed and licked him from base to head as Ian sank his hands into her hair, which had somehow largely remained in its bun. Perhaps he should warn her that he was not experienced. "Moira, I've never…" he broke off with a groan as she rolled her tongue around the tip, and then flicking then rapidly flicking the underside.

        "Never what Ian?" Moira pulled away just enough to look up at him as she spoke, letting her breath tease him.

        "I have never been with a woman before." Ian managed to get out between shuddering breaths. 

        "What never?" Moira's voice was filled with shocked disbelief.

        "I was raised in a very strict environment. I had never even consumed alcohol until tonight. If Irons knew about this evening, he would punish me severely." Ian replied, his voice so matter-of-fact that it convinced her without need for further explanations. 

         Moira knelt there stunned for a moment longer, then said, "I was just surprised. I couldn't tell from your responses that you are a virgin. Was I going to fast for you?" 

         Ian slid a hand out of her hair and caressed her cheek gently. He heard the guilt and self-recrimination in her voice. She thought she was taking advantage of him, and it was upsetting her. "No, I want you, and I want this. I just didn't want to do something wrong or offensive, and I was coming rapidly to the end of my control."

         "You deserve better for your first time than a hurried fuck against the tile wall of a shower." Moira bit her lip as she looked up at him. He didn't even know her, he was drunk, inexperienced, and she had taken him to far. Oh, she hadn't known, but it was her fault just the same. 

         "Oh no I don't!" Ian chuckled ruefully. "It's all I've been thinking about since you started taking off my shirt. I was cursing my lack of balance the entire time you were taking off my pants. All I could think about was how I would put you up against the wall and take you, if only I could stand unassisted. And when you bent over to turn on the shower, I was debating whether I could hold on to the shower door for balance while I pushed that scrap of red silk out of the way and fucked you."

           "You don't sound inexperienced." Moira's voice was weak as she helplessly contemplated how it would have felt if he had acted on his thoughts.

           "I have never even touched a woman until tonight, never really met a woman I was willing to defy Irons to have, but that doesn't mean I didn't learn about it. I have read several books on the subject, and you cannot go to the movies without seeing at least one fairly explicit sex scene. I have seen a great many movies." Ian explained shyly.

            "Remind me to stop complaining about Hollywood." Moira grinned, then added on a more serious note, "So, you are willing to lose your virtue, and you want it to be with me?"


	13. chapter 13 Shower check

BD13  
  
Disclaimer: Only Moira and the soap are mine; Ian belongs to Top Cow…lucky bastards!  
  
Author's note: Moondreamer, I had an out of state Renaissance Festival this weekend, and then had to catch up on everything around here that I missed by being gone for four days. However, I have returned. So hold onto your soap on a rope.  
  
  
  
I looked up at Ian, still trying to understand how a man like this was a virgin. His parents must have went right on past strict and into rabid. No wonder he had signed up for the military. It must have seemed like freedom after a life like that. I felt torn as I looked at him. He clearly was ready, willing, and able, but how much of that was the alcohol talking? Would he regret it in the morning? Would he even remember it in the morning? He was still pretty intoxicated; it was bound to be affecting his judgment. I really didn't want to take advantage of his condition. Well, ok. I did too. But I was stronger than that, right? Gazing at all that nude male perfection, the water trailing over his flesh, I wasn't so sure. I had to fight the urge to follow the path of the water with my tongue and hands.  
  
My thoughts must have been visible on my face because Ian said, "I won't change my mind, and even without the alcohol I wanted you. I just didn't have the opportunity to approach you."  
  
I remembered how our eyes had met in the laboratory, in that moment before I dropped my gaze. He was saying he felt the same way. I believed he did, I had caught him checking me out. Ok, so my real hang-up here was his virtue. His first time was NOT going to be up against the wall in the shower. As much fun as that might be… I just couldn't do that to him. However, "Ian, there is a perfectly good bed in the next room. Why don't we save the shower for when you are sober? The wet porcelain is slick, and your balance isn't what it should be."  
  
Ian smiled down at me, "So, would that be a rain-check on this, or a shower-check? I plan to hold you to it, whatever you decide to call it."  
  
I looked into those smoldering eyes and knew I would willingly pay that check, with interest. "Rain, I think. That way if you mention it and someone overhears, they'll think I owe you dinner or something. But don't worry; I don't intend to let that go uncollected long."  
  
I turned the shower off and stepped out. I grabbed the towels and passed one to Ian. I was very tempted to keep hold of it and dry him myself, but I knew we'd definitely not make it to the bedroom if I did. While he was drying off, I wrapped the other towel around me and grabbed our clothes. Now that I was clean, the smell of stale smoke and vomit coming from them repelled me. "Ian, I'm going to throw these in the washer. Be right back."  
  
"I will wait patiently for your return," Ian replied, and he slowly dragged the towel down his chest in a blatant reminder of what I would be missing while I was gone.  
  
Damn! If he was this sensual as a virgin, what was he going to be like after…!?!?! I grinned at the thought, and fairly ran to the little laundry/utility room. I threw the clothes in, set it on delicate out of deference to the silk dress, and hurried back to the bathroom.  
  
Ian was leaning against the wall, head back, eyes closed, with his arms and legs spread slightly for balance. I stopped in the door, awed by the site before me. I wondered what I had done to deserve this moment. I instantly vowed to do it again, as often as possible, whatever it had been.  
  
As if he felt the weight of my stare, Ian opened his eyes and looked at me. He pushed away from the wall and stalked toward me. I wondered fleetingly at his ability to walk unassisted, but that thought was quickly lost as he reached my side. He leaned down over me and purred, "I seem to have largely recovered my balance. Are you sure you don't want to try it up against the wall?"  
  
I shivered at the hungry promise in his voice. I think he could make me come if he talked to me in that tone for very long. 


	14. chapter 14 teaserCandle light

BDP14  
  
Disclaimer: Dude, I'm not even posting from my own computer! No money being made here…  
  
Author's note: Yes, my computer is not speaking to FF.Net, so I am prevailing upon Angharad to post it for me. Many thanks to her for doing so! She also makes the best covers for my fics. Talk about inspiration…  
  
  
  
I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath before I could find the willpower to say, "I would love to try it, next time. This time, the bedroom awaits."  
  
"Very well then." Ian acquiesced, but the reluctance was obvious in his voice.  
  
When I opened my eyes, I found that he had actually stuck that full bottom lip out a little in a pout. I took his hand and led him back to the bedroom before I caved under that look.  
  
The king sized bed dominated the room, complete with a black satin comforter. There were candles on the nightstands on either side of the bed. For once I was glad that Weis was a sexual hedonist as I moved to light the candles. It would help make the occasion more special for Ian to have the atmosphere. I was also glad I took the Pill. I really didn't want to walk a virgin through condom application.  
  
Ian watched me light the tapers. My hair was still mostly confined, but a few strands trailed down, and I glanced at him through them. The light flickered off his bronze flesh as he sprawled on the bed. Finally I had all the candles lit. Ian waited until I blew out the match and set it on one of the candleholders before pulling me down on top of him.  
  
I purred against his chest and looked into his eyes. They were so dark and serious. I wondered what he was thinking. Maybe he was wondering what he was doing here. I had been too young to realize all the possible ramifications of sex when I had lost my virginity. Ian was not a teenager experimenting with sex, but an adult. It was different for him, and the alcoholic haze that had led him this far was beginning to clear. I leaned down and kissed him softly, just a tentative brush of lips. "If this goes to fast for you, tell me. I won't do anything that makes you uncomfortable."  
  
Ian gave me a slow smile; "I have been 'uncomfortable' since you showed up in that little red dress. Do you know how much cleavage that thing flashes when you shrug?"  
  
"Ok, how about if I specify uncomfortable in a bad way." I grinned back at him, although I could feel a blush heating my cheeks.  
  
"Then I would say we could continue full speed ahead." Ian reached up and sank his fingers into my hair; pulling it out of the bun I kept it in.  
  
I felt it flow over my shoulders and back. He ran his fingers through it. I could see that he was enjoying the feel of it in his hands. I kissed him again, this time a more lingering exploration. He opened his mouth for me, letting me in to taste him. I teased his tongue with mine until he understood that it was all right for him to do the same. He invaded my mouth and took over the kiss. He was a quick study.  
  
My hands began to wander over his shoulders and down his chest. He squirmed under me and I grinned against his lips. He was so sensitive, and everything was new for him. I tore away from his mouth and let a string of kisses trail over his jaw and throat. I was consumed by a sudden desire to taste every inch of him. I dropped random kisses over his chest while my hands continued their exploration. I loved the feel of his skin, his muscles flexing under my hands. I was determined to make this the most incredible experience of his life.  
  
  
  
Author's note: Yeah, I know I am leaving you hanging again. It isn't a deliberate tease; I just have to leave town for Ren faires, SCA events, and various Shakespeare festivals. Summer is my busiest time of year. I am posting what I get written as I get it written, and all on a blasted loaner pc. C'mon Western Digital! Send me my hard drive back. Anyway, I am off again. Please keep the reviews coming. I am trying to write as often as I can.-Lassar 


	15. Chapter 15 Hair pins and Passions

BD15  
  
Disclaimer: Top Cow is a front for Kenneth Irons, who owns everything.  
  
Author's note: Still in computer hell, and to top it all off, I was rear- ended while driving home, then my mother showed up for an impromptu visit that lasted all week. Needless to say, my Muses went into hiding. It's hard to write about sex knowing your mother could walk in at any moment.  
  
  
  
Ian stretched out on the bed and watched Moira. Instead of coming to bed, she was lighting the candles that filled every spare inch of the two nightstands. Her body language was a little tense, suggesting she was nervous. That was almost funny, since he was the one who had never done this before. What did she have to be nervous about?  
  
Finally the last candle was lit, and there was no longer any reason for her to stay away. Instead of joining him immediately, she made a play of making sure the match was out before setting it down on the base of the last candleholder. Ian reached out and pulled her down onto him.  
  
She ended up sprawled across his chest, her legs just outside his hips. He could feel the contrast of rough-napped towel and sleek feminine flesh. Part of him kept insisting it couldn't be real, shouldn't be real.  
  
He knew perfectly well that this sort of contact was forbidden him. He had never understood why, he had simply obeyed. After all, there had been a great many things he did not understand. Understanding had not been required or desired by his master, but total obedience was.  
  
Now he had opened Pandora's box, and there was no turning back. Even if he did not consummate their mutual desires, he was still irreversibly changed. He gazed deep into Moira's brilliant blue eyes, trying to see she understood. He felt suspended between what was and what would be. It was a little frightening, this chasm that yawned under him. It seemed to be waiting for the slightest misstep to pull him down.  
  
Moira did seem to sense his fears, and she said, "If this goes to fast for you, tell me. I won't do anything that makes you uncomfortable."  
  
Just the fact that she understood lessened the fear enough that his sense of irony came to the surface. Hadn't he heard a similar statement in a movie once, but with the man saying it to the woman? And he certainly had qualified for uncomfortable for a while now. He was unused to being aroused, and found the natural reactions of his body more difficult to ignore than not. "I have been 'uncomfortable' since you showed up in that little red dress. Do you know how much cleavage that thing flashes when you shrug?"  
  
"Ok, how about if I specify uncomfortable in a bad way." Moira smiled down at him while blushing.  
  
Was that a blush mantling her cheeks? She was such a delightful blend of sassy and vulnerable. It made it easier to let go of his fears, knowing he was not the only one exposed.  
  
"Then I would say we could continue full speed ahead." Ian reached up and sank his fingers into her hair. He had an overwhelming urge to undo the last sign of restraint. He wanted to see her hair flowing over his hands and down her back.  
  
Hairpins pinged off the wall and floor as he undid her bun in the most expedient manner possible. He smiled as his labors were rewarded. Her hair flowed like silk over his hands and down her back. He found the contrast of night black hair and marble pale skin wondrous.  
  
The vision was marred only by the terrycloth towel, which now seemed terribly out of place. Just as he slid one hand down her back to push it off, she leaned in and kissed him in an exploratory way. Ian parted his lips instinctually, and was surprised when she thrust her tongue into his mouth. He passively allowed her explorations for a brief time, and then began to imitate her movements. 


	16. Chapter 16 Kissing the Blarney Stone

BD16 Author's notes: Anyone interested in the piece of art Ian refers to, can see it on the Jim Fitzpatrick website. It's how I see Moira in my mind's eye. Also, due to the rating changes of the site, this chapter has been edited for content. Sorry ladies. Sign the petition if it bothers you, I certainly have.  
  
Moira coaxed his tongue into her mouth, and sighed as he took over the kiss. Ian found the taste of her more intoxicating than the alcohol he had consumed. He had never thought of how a woman would taste, or how it would affect him. She was a fire in his blood, burning away rational thought.  
  
She was running her hands over his sides lightly, and Ian shivered. He had not realized his ribs were ticklish. Moira pulled away from his mouth and began to drop kisses along his jaw and down his chest.  
  
He tugged demandingly on the towel, and it yielded to him. The offending terrycloth barrier was tossed toward the wall, narrowly missing the candles. The breeze created by it's passing caused a few of the candles to go out, and several others flickered wildly. Ian didn't even notice, so focused was he in the sleek flesh now exposed to his gaze.  
  
Moira grinned at his impetuous action. It was so at odds with the way he was staring at her without making a move to touch. She felt like a painting or a classical sculpture in a museum. "I won't break, and I wasn't painted by DaVinci."  
  
"What about Jim Fitzpatrick? You do look strikingly like the piece titled 'Boann' that he did recently." Ian said, half in seriousness.  
  
"Jim's work is pretty much unknown here in the States. How did you become a fan?" Moira asked as she stroked her hands down his arms.  
  
"I've spent some time in Eire, but I was largely on the Isle of Skye and the Orkney Islands. I had thought never to see anything as beautiful as the Hebrides in spring, but you are far lovelier." Ian finished softly as he joined his hands in hers.  
  
"And you stopped at Castle Blarney during your tour, I see." Moira felt a blush heat her cheekbones.  
  
"I did actually, but I gave 'kissing the stone' a miss. Anything that requires being lowered by my ankles by some stranger into what looks suspiciously like a medieval jakes I feel compelled to avoid." Ian smiled.  
  
"Smart thinking there, Sassenach. I believe the tradition was started for visiting English dignitaries, and you know what high esteem they were held in." Moira rolled her eyes.  
  
"Well there's one thing Irish I will always be willing to kiss," Ian raised their intertwined hands to his lips and placed a lingering kiss on each knuckle, all the while maintaining eye contact.  
  
Moira shivered under his suddenly intense gaze. The moment of playfulness had passed, sending them back into the fire of their mutual passion. Moira leaned down and kissed Ian deeply, telling him without words how he had affected her.  
  
Initially Ian was content to let her set the pace. Her explorations were also his discoveries. He could not believe the sensations shooting through his body. It was almost more than he could take. His body was tight, straining. He was restive under her hands, seeking something he did not know, only sensed. He felt his hips move demandingly as she trailed little licks and nips just below his navel, a low growl trickling from his lips.  
  
"Easy accushla," Moira soothed, kissing back up his chest. She locked eyes with him, seeing the almost blind hunger in his. Oh yes, Ian was more than ready. She straddled his hips; this first time might go better with her on top. She didn't want him upset if he had trouble achieving entry. Goddess forefend she should give this beautiful man a complex.  
  
She also didn't want either of them hurt, and a botched thrust could bruise both participants. That would be uncomfortable as well as inconvenient. Moira braced herself with one hand on his chest, and leaned slightly forward. The other hand grasped his erection gently and guided him to her entrance.  
  
Ian sucked in a breath as she lowered herself onto him. The sensation was like nothing he had ever dreamed. Several of the texts had referred to heat and moisture; he had even encountered phrases such as wet silk or satin. He found the terms to be an inadequate description of the actual feeling. Although he wasn't sure how he would describe it, if asked, either. All he knew was, it was the most incredible sensation, and he never wanted it to stop.  
  
Above him, Moira was working hard to maintain a slow and steady pace. Her body was screaming for more, but she had to take his inexperience into account. This inner resolve of hers lasted until he gritted his teeth and gasped out, "Moira, please!" while arching upward.  
  
"Roll with me, accushla." Moira ordered as she gripped his shoulders and twisted. They nearly fell off the bed, but managed to change positions without separating. Ian braced himself on his forearms and looked down into Moira's dark blue eyes. He hesitated for a long moment, simply enjoying the intimacy of their embrace. Then he began to move, letting instinct guide him. His breathing became more and more ragged as he sped up.  
  
Moira's soft little cries became louder, encouraging him. She had really intended to be giving him advice, but she was far beyond the ability to string coherent thoughts together. Not that it mattered, as Ian was doing everything just fine. He shifted slightly over her, and his next thrust touched something inside her she had not thought she possessed. She cried out his name as her entire body shook with the force of her orgasm.  
  
Ian felt her inner muscles clamp down on him as she called his name. The realization that he had given her such pleasure, combined with the feel of her around him, pushed him over the edge as well. His spine bowed as the pleasure seized him. Sweating and spent, he lowered himself down beside Moira. It had been the most incredible night of his life, and he hoped it wasn't over yet. 


	17. Chapter 17: Sleeping Bonsai

BD17  
  
  
  
Moira watched with a soft smile as Ian drifted off into sleep. The combination of physical and mental strain had drained his energy. She stroked the side of his face, appreciating anew the clean strength of it.  
  
In sleep, his face relaxed into a vulnerability she had only seen flashes of during their joining. She suspected he had never shared his inner self with another. It was sobering to realize that she probably knew him better than anyone, except perhaps the people who raised him. Not that she thought much of them, considering how they had controlled and confined his soul. They, whoever they were, had come very close to crippling Ian's spirit. And that wasn't all they'd damn near crippled.  
  
Once she was certain that he was asleep Moira stroked her hands over his body lightly, checking to see if she had imagined the marks of old pain. The ridges of scar tissue on his wrists told her she had not. She felt a fierce surge of protectiveness well up within her. She had seen some of the pale crisscrossing of scar tissue on his body earlier, but there could have been several reasons for it. Now that she had the leisure to examine him closely, there was only one possible source for most of the wounds.  
  
The last time she had seen damage like that, it had been in a Veteran's Hospital during her internship. A few of the patients had been prisoners of war in Vietnam, and they carried several similar marks. They had also been so psychologically damaged that twenty years later they were still coming in for therapy.  
  
Ian had already lived a very brutal and, from what she had seen, limited life. He could not have had much of the groundwork necessary for a strong sense of self, unlike the men at the hospital. Everything he had said while drunk led Moira to think that he was rather like a bonsai tree. He had been pruned and confined into a smaller shape than he had been born for, to suit the purposes of another. She wondered what he had been permitted to do, after hearing so many basic things he had not been.  
  
Whatever those things were, Moira hoped they could explore them together, but she was not going to assume it would be so. No matter what he had said tonight, without the alcohol lowering his defenses, he would not have opened up to her. When he sobered up, she suspected she would be 'Dr Burke' again, and he would be 'Nottingham'. The idea hurt like hell, but she knew it was the most likely outcome.  
  
Really, it would be for the best. She loved her work, and the military life. If she were caught with Ian, she would be dishonorably discharged at the very least. So would he, and that would doubtless put him back in the hands of the heartless bastards who had hurt him. It would not be a good outcome for either of them.  
  
What would she do if he did treat her distantly in the morning? Could she be professional? Could she be professional if he didn't? It was going to be a very strained and difficult time in the lab until they found a way to interact without letting tonight color their reactions to one another.  
  
"Oh Ian, what a fine mess we're in." Moira said softly as she committed the way he looked to memory, fearing it would be the last time she would see him like this.  
  
She was shaken out of her depression by a faint buzzing sound from the utility room. The wash cycle had ended. Moira knew she needed to get up and put their clothes in the dryer, but found it difficult to leave his side. She caressed his face one last time and slid out of bed.  
  
She hurried down the hall, shoved his clothes and her underthings in the dryer and turned it on. The silk dress she carried with her to the bathroom and hung it over the shower door. Shivering a bit, she headed back to the bedroom. She was pretty sure she could get Ian to warm her up.  
  
Ian was sprawled sideways on the bed. He was sleeping on his stomach, one arm hanging off the mattress. He was so handsome that Moira felt her breath catch. Hesitantly, as if he would disappear, she walked over to his side and reached out to touch him. Her hand hovered over his back. Just as her palm brushed the warm satin of his skin, she heard the distinct sound of the front door opening. 


	18. Chapter 18: Unexpected Company

BD18  
  
Author's note: Thanks for the reviews. I love to hear from you all. Feedback helps improve my work, and maintains my enthusiasm for the story.  
  
  
  
I jerked my hand back, and pulled open all the dresser drawers until I found a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. I dressed quickly and threw a sheet over Ian. I picked up the towel and wrapped my hair in it. A quick check in the mirror showed only a freshly scrubbed woman in clothing too large for her frame. I checked again. Despite the inner turmoil, there were no obvious external signs to betray me. I took a deep breath and walked back toward the front of the apartment, ready to confront Weis.  
  
Just inside the hallway, Weis was engaged in a deep kiss with one of the women from the bar. I rolled my eyes as they groped one another, completely oblivious to my presence. It didn't look like they were going to come up for air any time soon, and I didn't really want to stand around watching them.  
  
For a moment I entertained the thought of clapping or wolf whistling, but the momentary amusement it would gain me would be far outweighed by the shit I would catch in return.  
  
Just as I was about to discreetly clear my throat, they came up for air. Weis was facing me, and I watched his eyes widen in surprise. I smiled ruefully and shrugged.  
  
The blonde in his arms still had her back to me, but his reaction was enough to cause her hands to stop running over him. She glanced back over her shoulder and the moment she saw me, her eyes hardened. "I'm not into threesomes."  
  
The same little inner demon that I had ignored only moments ago surged to the forefront, and I blew her a kiss. "I'm so glad you agree. Beat it Weis, me an' blondie are gonna have some fun."  
  
For a moment, Weis looked poleaxed. I think he was visualizing the idea, but I don't want to know. He gave me a huge grin and said, "Can't I at least watch?"  
  
"You two are kidding right?" the currently nameless female asked, looking rather perturbed.  
  
"Yeah, we are. I'm sorry to interrupt you two, but a friend of mine was sick all over the car and myself on our way back to base. I stopped here to clean up so the M.P. on duty wouldn't relay the amusing story to everyone who came through the checkpoint for the rest of the night." I apologized.  
  
"I can understand that. But you must know that your 'secret' is NOT safe with me." Weis grinned.  
  
"It better be, or a certain secret of yours won't be either." I retorted without getting specific. I'm sure Weis has done things he would rather no one know about, and I might even know what one or two of them were.  
  
"You are no fun. All right, I'll keep it to myself." Weis grudgingly acquiesced.  
  
"I'll be out of here as soon as my clothes come out of the dryer, which should be half an hour. I'll just go out and clean up my car while I'm waiting, that way you two can have some privacy." I said as I headed toward the kitchen. Having been on cleanup detail after some of Weis' parties, I knew where the paper towels and cleansing agents were.  
  
"Don't worry about us, we'll just lock ourselves in the bedroom." Weis started down the hall, one hand settling familiarly on the blonde's ass.  
  
"No, wait!" I rushed out of the kitchen to cut them off before they could reach the bedroom door. 


	19. Chapter 19: Scrambling

BD19  
  
Disclaimers: May the execs at TNT be tied to a chair and forced to watch 'The Smurfs'. Oh wait, what am I saying? That's probably their idea of quality programming.  
  
  
  
Ian awoke to find himself alone. He felt oddly disappointed by the fact, considering he always awakened this way. He wished Moira had remained beside him, and wondered why she hadn't. Only the scent of her remained on the bed and his body, barely discernable under the stronger aromas of sex and hot wax. He took a moment to breathe it in, imprinting it forever on his memory.  
  
The candles had not burned down very far, so he must not have been asleep long. Maybe an hour at most, he surmised as he sat up. He felt more alert than he expected to, given the amount of alcohol he had consumed, and the brief period of exhausted sleep he had enjoyed.  
  
He was not sure what had wakened him, but he could hear voices in the hall. Moira had said this was not her apartment, so the owner must have returned unexpectedly. He could barely make out their discussion, but what he heard was enough.  
  
It was what she didn't say that made him realize the repercussions of their time together, if they were caught. He had completely forgotten, in his alcohol-induced haze, that they could be court-martialed for being together. At the very least, they would pull her off the project and put a reprimand in her file, a reprimand that would cost her any chance at promotion.  
  
Mr. Irons would be informed of his transgression as well, and there was no telling how severe his punishment would be, or what form it would take. His master might very well punish Moira for her part. The thought of her suffering pierced him through the heart.  
  
As much as he would like to remain in bed until Moira returned, he knew that was no longer an option. The sheet slithered to the floor as he stood up, joining the coverlet in an untidy puddle at the foot of the bed.  
  
One of the dresser drawers was half open, as if Moira had hurried to throw something on and greet them. He looked inside the drawer and saw t- shirts and sweats, and a couple pair of b.d.u. pants. Since he didn't know the size of the person who's clothing it was, and didn't think he had time to change twice, he regretfully passed up the b.d.u. pants and pulled on the sweats.  
  
With the t-shirt in hand, he turned and blew out the candles. The obvious smell and resultant smoke caused him to open a window. The wet spot in the bed could be excused by leaving his towel over it. The owner would doubtless assume the sheets had absorbed the moisture from the towel.  
  
The doorknob made a slight rattling sound as it was turned. Out of time, he jerked the cotton top over his head just in time to hear Moira say 'No, wait.' He plopped back down on the bed and feigned sleep, not knowing what else he could do. 


	20. Chapter 20: Hidden Talent

BD20 Author's notes: Thanks to those who review. I love to hear from you. BTW, the unedited version of chapter 16 is up at http://pub92.ezboard.com/fwitchbladeconnectionsfrm1 if anyone wants to see it.  
  
  
  
I was not fast enough to stop Weis from opening the door. I froze halfway down the hall, waiting for the explosion. I think I was holding my breath. My mind was churning; I was trying to think of a way to make the candlelight and naked male seem innocent. Unfortunately, the 'gift of the gab' was not something that could be stretched to cover this sort of situation, and I could not think of anything to say.  
  
"So, this is the friend who hurled all over you and the car. I'd say drag his ass out there and make him help clean it up." Weis said disgustedly.  
  
Wondering why Weis hadn't reacted the way I thought he would, I finally managed to get my feet moving. I walked the last few feet to the bedroom door and looked around him. To my surprise, Ian lay face down and fully clothed on the bed. The candles had been blown out, and the faint flapping of a curtain in the wind told me why there wasn't any telltale smell of their recent burning.  
  
"I seriously doubt he's slept it off so quickly, but I can at least get him to the couch." I said as I moved past Weis and into the room. I didn't want Weis getting to close to Nottingham, because as soon as he did, he'd know who it was. We had studied their files extensively, so there was no chance he wouldn't recognize Ian.  
  
I moved into the room and leaned over Ian, taking care that my body was blocking their view. I knew he was awake; he had to be. No one could have had the presence of mind to get dressed and do their best to get rid of the evidence, only to fall asleep moments later. I touched his shoulder gently and murmured, "When I get you up, keep your face turned into my shoulder so Weis can't identify you."  
  
His shoulder tensed under my hand, and then he gave the briefest of nods in acknowledgement. I hoped it looked like he was snuggling deeper into the pillow, if Weis could see anything at all. I shook him and said, "Come on, wake up. Rise and shine. Ok, I'll settle for rise."  
  
Ian raised his head slightly and opened one eye. I could see the mirth in it, and knew he was thinking about something else that had been up earlier. I tried to give him a quelling look, but it was difficult, since I was now thinking the same thing. I nearly blew the whole thing by laughing when he croaked, "Already?"  
  
"Yes, already. We're being evacuated. You can be miserable on the couch just as well as here anyway." I said as I grabbed one arm and 'helped' Ian get to his feet.  
  
"Ohhhh," Ian groaned, a bit theatrically in my opinion, and got up. As he rose, he cradled his face with the hand I wasn't using for leverage. It was quite inspired really, and kept his face hidden without being in the least bit suspicious.  
  
I helped him toward the door, still keeping myself between Ian and Weis. We shuffled out the door, Ian staggering and lurching like a derelict. If he ever got out of the military, he had a great acting career ahead of him. He almost managed to bring us down twice before we got to the living room. Once we got to the couch, I let him drop with a sigh of relief.  
  
When I went back down the hall to go strip the bed, I discovered they'd already closed the bedroom door. I could hear, very faintly, the sounds of passion through the wood. I fought back a laugh; sure it would be filled with hysteria. We'd gotten away with it! Well, almost.  
  
The car still needed to be cleaned up, our clothes had to be gotten out of the dryer, and we had to get him back to barracks. I tried to think positive as I headed back to the couch. If Ian helped me get the car cleaned out, we could be on our way quicker. I knew it wouldn't take long for his clothes to dry, considering there wasn't anything else in the dryer. We could probably be out of here inside twenty minutes.  
  
Ian was sitting up, watching me return. He looked at me questioningly, "Didn't they want the sheets changed?"  
  
"Somehow I don't think they'll notice right now. Hopefully they will think they did it, if they discover it later. Let's get the car cleaned up so we can get out of here." I led the way to the kitchen. I bent over, getting a trash bag for all the paper towels I was about to use, when Ian grabbed my waist.  
  
"If they're really going to be so preoccupied, don't you owe me a shower check?" Ian purred at my back, pressing against my hips.  
  
I closed my eyes and shuddered. He had a voice like velvet when he wanted, and it overloaded my senses almost as much as the feel of him molded to me. "Accushla, I would rather we continued this another time and place. Someplace without such a potential for being caught, someplace where we can take our time." 


	21. Chapter 21: Cooking with Ian

BD21  
  
  
  
  
  
"And where exactly do you think that is? The lab is monitored rather closely I suspect. Unless you have an off-base apartment." Ian trailed off speculatively as his hands pulled me tighter against his burgeoning erection.  
  
"No, I'm afraid I don't. I've had better things to spend my money on than redundant housing. Although I must admit, I am beginning to regret my shortsightedness." I shook my head as I straightened up. I'd been sending the majority of my pay to an account in Ireland via my cousin Seamus.  
  
I didn't want to muster out in thirteen years and have nothing but my pension, and it's never a good idea to let Uncle Sam know you have an account in a foreign country. They get very nervous about that sort of thing, especially when you work in a high security department.  
  
At this moment I would have traded the difference to maintain civilian housing. It was going to be damn near impossible to get a hotel at this hour, as all the military personnel with weekend passes had already taken the majority of the rooms.  
  
Ian was right; the lab was closely monitored. It would be career suicide to try anything there, and my base apartment wasn't much better for privacy. As bizarre as the thought had originally seemed, this was about as private as it was going to get.  
  
If my choices were one; clean out the tequila splattered car or two; have wild sex up against the kitchen counter, there was no contest. I dropped the paper towels and the trash bag onto the Formica. I leaned back against Ian's chest and wrapped my arms around his neck, "We've got to be quiet, and we don't have a lot of time."  
  
"I don't know if I can stay silent, you have an incredible affect on my powers of restraint." Ian murmured into my ear, and then nibbled on it.  
  
The gentle scrape of his teeth on my earlobe sent chills down my spine. I tilted my head slightly, giving him better access as I said, "I don't know if I can either, but I'm willing to try if you are."  
  
Ian chuckled softly, "Oh, I think you could say I was up for it."  
  
"Mmmm yes, I had noticed that." I purred as I arched against his hard muscled frame. Part of me was screaming, telling me I was being an idiot. We stood a very good chance of being discovered if we had sex here. Weis and his 'date' were, at best, a hundred feet away from us. The only thing to block the sound was distance and a cheap hollow plywood door.  
  
I wasn't sure I cared. I had already complicated my life beyond all expectation. I had previously believed it took at least a full-bird colonel to fuck everything up this good, but all it had taken was one incredibly handsome E-2 and I. Leaving would be rather like closing the barn door after the horse. The real damage had been done, and I couldn't help thinking that I should enjoy the fruit of my labors one more time before I had to start paying for them.  
  
Excuse me, before we had to start paying for them. Ian was as deep in this as I was, maybe further. It had been a mind-bending night of firsts for him, and tomorrow he was going have to deal with the consequences. The fact that I was worried about his emotional well-being meant I had a few unexpected consequences of my own to deal with.  
  
Consequences I was going to deal with later, much later. It was difficult to think once Ian slid his hands under the t-shirt and cupped my breasts. As he rolled my nipples between his fingers, I moaned softly and quit thinking. 


	22. Chapter 22: Iron Chef

BDP22  
  
  
  
I had never considered kitchens sexy. They always seemed very task oriented. You went in there to make food, period. Tonight Ian and I were cooking all right, but I was the only thing on the menu. He was devouring me. His hands roamed feverishly over my body. His mouth bestowing kisses, licks, and tiny stinging bites wherever he could reach. I could only arch and writhe under his attentions, little whimpers escaping my lips in spite of my resolve to stay silent.  
  
Ian tugged insistently on my clothing. I let him do what he would, consumed by the fire he had ignited in my blood. This time there was no hesitation in his actions. For someone who was a very recent ex-virgin, he had taken devastatingly complete control of the situation. Amazing what a little 'hands-on training' will do for one's confidence.  
  
The sweatpants I had borrowed were puddled on the floor; the shirt had been shoved up over my breasts, leaving me totally exposed. I could feel the hunger coming from him, and marveled at it. I had not realized I was capable of creating this kind of response in a man. It was flattering and exciting. I felt incredibly feminine and powerful as he stared, his hands stalled on my hips as he gazed at my near-naked form.  
  
His fingers slid down and around, until they were cupping my thighs. I had a moment to wonder what he was doing, and then I was being lifted onto the edge of the sink. I clutched his shoulders for balance. I couldn't lean back very far or I'd fall butt first into the sink.  
  
Ian's lips twitched as he tried to hold back a smile, but I could see the deviltry in his eyes. He knew how precarious my position was, and he thought it was funny. I wrapped my legs around his waist, grinding my pelvis against him through the cotton of his sweatpants.  
  
'Hmmm, doesn't look like he thinks it's funny now.' I thought to myself as all humor fled Ian's face, pushed aside by pure hunger. His eyes closed and his head went back. I could see the muscles in his jaw clench.  
  
I purred softly, enjoying both the sensation and his response immensely. The feel of him through the cotton was exciting. Knowing that only a single layer of cloth lay between our mutual desire only heightened the eroticism of the moment. I experimented, going faster and slower, just as I varied the pressure. I discovered that the light teasing strokes served to help maintain my control by lessening the friction. It had the opposite effect on Ian, pushing him further from his as he was denied the sensation.  
  
Ian shook as I continued to ride his barely confined erection. His breath was coming in harsh counterpoint to my own, and his hips began to pulse. He tightened his grip on my waist and fitted me even tighter against him. Now I couldn't pull back whenever I wanted a reprieve. That much direct friction to my clitoris was bringing me very close to an orgasm. I wasn't sure how much longer I could continue without going over the edge, as little starbursts had begun to dance on the edge of my vision.  
  
I pulled back a little, my hand going between us to remove the last barrier to our joining. It wouldn't take much for me to be ready to go again, one of the perks of being female was the multiple orgasms, but I didn't want him to feel left out.  
  
"No. You're so close. I want to watch as the pleasure takes you." Ian whispered against my temple as he caught my hand.  
  
How could I refuse such a command? I put my hand back in its original position, still reeling under the power of Ian's voice, and relinquished control of the moment to him. Our eyes met and stayed locked as he rocked against me. I felt as though I was completely exposed to his gaze. It was the most intimate thing I'd ever done. I had to fight the urge to bury my face in his neck to hide, but his words still vibrated along my nerves. 'I want to watch'.  
  
I realized that I wanted him to watch too. To see just what he was capable of doing to me, but I was learning that there was a difference between naked and unclothed. I could be unclothed without feeling concern, embarrassment, or fear. Naked was a different thing entirely. I was feeling all of those things, in differing degrees, and letting them show plainly on my face.  
  
Most of it was that I was afraid he would not like what he would see. I am not some pure and perfect maiden, like all the old stories. I grew up in the real world. Belfast did not encourage or reward innocence. I had lied, cheated, schemed, held grudges, and worse.  
  
I had lost friends and family in the battlegrounds that were thinly disguised as city streets, schoolyards, and playgrounds. My parents had emigrated to Amerikay, as they still called it, after my eldest sister had died in the July 12th bombing.  
  
I don't know that New York was any better though. People still died around you, but it was for drugs, money, and/or gang rivalries. I know that dead is dead, but it seemed infinitely sadder to have died for those things. It seemed nobler somehow to lay down your life fighting for your freedom, and I had not been terribly quiet about it at first. I wanted to go back home, where at least if I got shot it wouldn't be a complete waste. I think I had romanticized Maria's death, looking back on it, in an effort to make it hurt less. I had wanted her death to mean something.  
  
My comments had caught the attention of a certain element that exists in the Irish-American community. Yes, the 'Irish Mafia' is still alive and well, it just has better spin jockeys working for it these days. For some reason, they are very pro-Independence for Ireland. I suppose because many of their forebears had come to America to escape English persecution. I had considered joining; I must admit. I had cousins who were 'in the business', and they were doing quite well for themselves.  
  
The morality of it hadn't even entered my mind at first. It had been a career option, and a very good one. It just had a lousy retirement plan. Besides, there were no scholarships for the sort of research I wanted to do. Oh sure, they would have loved to have helped me become a chemical engineer, but I would have been expected to design stronger and more addictive drugs for them in return for my education. Drugs they would have given to children to get them hooked.  
  
That was where I drew the line in the sand, which is what made me decide for the military. It was easily the smartest move I'd ever made. They took one look at my ASFAB and cheerfully sent me into training in the field of my dreams. It had been a good life, but lonely. I took lovers when the mood moved me, even did one night stands. Another mark against me, for women who have casual sex are viewed much more harshly by our society than the most irresponsible of men.  
  
Yet here I was, with the most (until tonight) innocent and virtuous man I had ever known. I felt a surge of embarrassment, oddly displeased that I had not been as pure as he had been. I was not sure I was worthy of him. There's that Irish Catholic upbringing for you.  
  
I didn't know where the spurt of bravery came from, but my decision to let him really see into my soul was the hardest thing I had ever done. Always before I had closed my eyes and retained my secrets, kept back that last part of myself. Maybe it was selfish, I don't know. I would like to say it was self-preservation, but that meant that I had never truly trusted the men I had slept with before.  
  
Well, hadn't I? No, I had not. I did not give of myself lightly, if at all. This sort of intimacy had to be earned, and my previous encounters had not lasted long enough for that level of trust to develop. I didn't fully understand why tonight had become an exception to the rule, but I was inclined to trust my instincts. Admittedly, the man was different, the circumstances were different, and just maybe I was different.  
  
All these things that moved through my mind in that eternal moment, and still I kept my eyes locked with his. I did not attempt to hide them. That would violate the spirit of our agreement, and I knew that such a thing would hurt him. I could not do that to Ian. He would think I was drawing away from him. Maybe even think I did not find him worthy of sharing.  
  
When the fear passed over and through me, I realized his eyes were just as unshuttered as mine. I could see concern, curiosity, desire, and pleasure. Ian had not realized what he had asked for, but he knew now. The understanding clearly excited him, but he was waiting for a signal from me to proceed.  
  
"Más é do thoil é" I murmured, English seeming so very foreign and crass somehow. I knew he would understand the look in my eyes, if not my words.  
  
  
  
A/N: Más é do thoil é means please. This did not come out the way I had expected. I hope no one is disappointed. I will get back to the business at hand, I promise. This simply insisted on being written, and my Muses can be very pushy when they want to be. And yes, I am ending at a bad point again, but it's only because I love you all. (vbeg) 


	23. Chapter 23: Burning the biscuits

BDP 23 A A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviews, both here and over at WBConnections. You are the best! Thank you also for being so patient with me while I let this story sit on the backburner to finish Miscommunication.  
Ian was awed and humbled by the look in Moira's eyes. He had not realized that what he asked for could be any more intimate than being sheathed inside her. How could this be more than what they had already shared? Yet somehow it was.  
  
Every feeling, every thought that went through her mind lay open to his view. Until this moment he had not wondered why Irons had always instructed him to lower his gaze. He had thought it to be a gesture of respect, part of the vassal and liege chivalric code that existed between them. Now he wondered if it was another tool to isolate him, or if it was to keep him from reading Kenneth's thoughts. Perhaps a little of all three, if the truth was known.  
  
Not that such things mattered now. All that was important was that he honor Moira's trust with his own. He met her eyes with equal openness as he waited for her to signify her readiness to continue.  
  
Moira whispered softly in Gaelic, and even if he had not understood a single word of that language, the look in her eyes would have told him everything he needed to know. She was ready for him to continue.  
  
When she had reached between them, he had stepped back a little to give her room. Ian moved forward into her, realizing how much he craved the contact. He flexed his hips slowly, drawing out the moment and the sensation. It was amazing how pleasurable it was to feel her sliding over his aroused flesh, considering there was still a layer of cloth between them.  
  
"How much better would it feel, skin to skin?" Ian had not intended to speak his thought aloud, but it slipped past his lips in a raspy blend of curiosity and hunger.  
  
His voice was the very soul of temptation. Moira shuddered at the images summoned by the hotly breathed question. Her hands slipped inside the elastic waistband of Ian's sweats and pulled down as she tilted her hips back. She barely managed to free his erection before he arched back into her.  
  
Both shuddered under the sensation of flesh meeting flesh. The feeling was a thousand times more intense than it had been through the cloth. Ian had just enough control to keep from thrusting into her as his body was screaming for him to do. She was completely open to him, and more than ready. Instead he continued to stroke himself against her, never losing contact with her clitoris as he moved. He used her response as a guide, learning swiftly that quick short strokes drove Moira out of her mind.  
  
Her legs were wrapped tight around his waist, her arms around his chest, clinging to the only solid thing in her universe. Everything else fell away; leaving only the fire he ignited singing through her veins.  
  
Somewhere in the back of Moira's brain was a half-remembered warning, keeping her cries of pleasure muted to whimpers and soft moans. Though even that was fading under the welter of pleasure. She was burning up, "Ian, ta dó."  
  
Moira's outburst surprised him, and he moved a hand up to capture her mouth before she could cry out again, barely muffling her scream of release. Ian watched the pleasure take her. Sapphire eyes still unshielded, sharing with him unstintingly.  
  
Then the strangest thing happened. Her pleasure pulled him over the edge as well. The orgasm caught him completely by surprise. He bit his lip to keep from crying out as he came, hot spurts of semen streaking Moira's belly and thighs.  
  
When she had recovered enough, her eyes twinkled at him and she flicked her tongue out to lick his hand. Startled, Ian pulled his fingers away from her lips. He had been so wrapped up in the moment that he had left his palm over her mouth long after it was necessary to do so.  
  
Free to speak again, Moira murmured huskily, "I think I need another shower."  
  
"I'm sorry," Ian stared at her in mortification, until he realized she was not angry about the mess he had made all over her.  
  
"I'm not. You obviously haven't looked at the front of your pants. Men aren't the only ones you know." Moira laughed softly, mindful once again of the two in the bedroom.  
  
The pants in question were somewhere around his ankles. Ian stepped out of them and held the sweats up for inspection. The fabric over the crotch was soaked. He gave Moira a questioning look.  
  
"It's a good sign. It means you were driving me crazy. I guess we're going to have to throw them in the washer before we go." Moira beckoned him back down the hall to the bathroom. 


	24. Chapter 24: Clean up duty

BDP24  
We were back in the shower, filled with a sense of urgency. There was no time for any fun; our window of opportunity was closing. If we didn't get a move on, we would not beat the other members of his unit back to base. If we weren't the first to return, they would start wondering about the lost time. It would raise questions we did not need asked.  
  
Not that I wasn't tempted. There's something about watching the water bead and slide over his toned flesh that is very distracting. I don't think I could have resisted if he had made an overture, but Ian was taking his cues from me. I had said we had to hurry, so he was.  
  
I put back on the sweats I had borrowed; the silk dress would have stuck in the M.P.'s mind. Besides, it wasn't dry yet anyway. I pulled Ian's clothes out of the dryer and after a moment's debate, decided to just take the stained sweat pants with me. Weis might think it odd if he opened his washer and saw a single pair of sweats. I threw it over my right arm, the left one already occupied with my red dress, and waited for Ian to put his B.D.U.'s back on.  
  
Once he was dressed, I opened the apartment door as quietly as I could, and headed down the hall. Ian walked beside me, carrying the roll of paper towels, Windex, and the trash bag. Since it was his mess, he could clean it up.  
  
The smell of regurgitated alcohol is in a class all it's own. I could smell it as soon as we exited the apartment building. When I glanced over, I could see Ian's nose wrinkling up in disgust. I was glad I had left the window down, because fermenting vomit is in yet another class, a class I never wanted to come near again.  
  
Ian started cleaning without a word of complaint, which went far to earn back the kudo points he'd lost for hurling in the first place. I was content to stand downwind as much as I could and supervise, which he also took with good grace.  
  
He was surprisingly adept, and within a much shorter time span than I would have anticipated, the vehicle was clean. Ian took the trash bag to the dumpster while I tossed the Windex in the back seat. I was not going to go back into the apartment if I could help it. I was pushing my luck to its limits already.  
  
We had a fifteen-minute drive back to Base from here, which I could cut down to ten with the way I drove. I dropped into my seat and strapped in. Ian did so, but more slowly. As I reached to put the keys in the ignition, his hand closed over mine.  
  
"What happens now, Moira?" Ian sounded a little lost.  
  
"We haul our asses back and hope we don't get caught. After that, it's up to you. I know this is all new to you. I do not want to pressure you, or have you think I've taken advantage of you. Unfortunately, any progression into a relationship will have to be done quietly. I would be kicked off the project, and probably court-martialed. I don't know what would happen to you, maybe court-martial, maybe just a discharge. Maybe we'll both end up breaking rocks at Leavenworth or Hood." I turned slightly in the seat to give him my full attention.  
  
"I understand. I would like there to be more, and I am very good at quiet. Better than you, I've noticed." Ian smiled at me, his eyes gleaming with the memory.  
  
"That's right, rub it in." I rolled my eyes. I had a feeling I was going to be hearing about that one for a while.  
  
"My pleasure." Ian purred.  
  
A double entendre? My, we were learning fast, weren't we? I smacked him lightly on the arm to show my 'appreciation' of his wit, "As long as you understand the limitations that puts on us, and can live with them, I am willing."  
  
We stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, on some levels we had already gone beyond the need for words. What I saw there reassured me. He did understand quite clearly, and was willing to work around the giant obstacles barring us from having a normal relationship. 


	25. Chapter 25: Mobius

BDP 25  
  
After everything else that had happened, getting back to the lab was very anticlimactic. There had been no odd looks from the sentries, no near misses with staff members in the hall, and none of Ian's unit was lounging around the berths. They had pulled it off with no one the wiser.  
  
Moira did have a bad moment while leaving, as she nearly collided with Mobius coming in. His gaze was clear, and far too observant.  
  
"Thanks for taking care of Nottingham, Doc. He's an odd mix of innocent and deadly, isn't he." Mobius shook his head slightly, as if still amazed that the universe could support such a pairing of diverse elements.  
  
"You have no idea." Moira smiled, and then sighed. "Watch over him Mobius, I might not be there to put him back together again next time."  
  
"Yeah, I got that vibe tonight. He's a baby wolf, to busy trying to learn what the pack considers acceptable behavior to have a thought for himself." Mobius agreed.  
  
"Worse. He has been conditioned not to consider himself." Moira wondered how much to tell Mobius, the memory of Ian's scar tissue burned into her fingers. Two things held her back, firstly that she had only speculation on the nature of Ian's injuries, and secondly that she wasn't sure that she could say anything else without exposing more than she wished  
  
"There's something you're not telling me Doc." Mobius went very still, his focus absolute and more than a little unsettling  
  
Moira stared into dark brown eyes and decided a little truth was needful. "He has extensive scarring on his wrists, consistent with extended shackling. Understand that I can only speculate, but I have seen damage like that on a few patients and they were ex-P.O.W.s. Nottingham is far too young to have been in 'Nam, which leaves me with very few theories. So far there is just one hypothesis that fits all my data, that he was abused at home."  
  
"If it's true, he has no business being on this project. Wait, wouldn't the Psych Eval catch something like that?" Mobius held up a hand before Moira could speak, "Never mind, I can think of several ways around the test myself. I will discourage the rest of the unit from taking advantage of Nottingham's conditioning. But Doc, I will be working to take him beyond it. No man should be held in bondage to another."  
  
"I agree, and I will worry less knowing you are taking him under your wing. I will do what I can from my end, but I think you will be in a better position to help him. You are one of his peers, and he already looks to you for guidance." Moira agreed, feeling a weight lift from her chest.  
  
They parted ways, Moira leaving the building, Mobius heading to the room he shared with Nottingham.  
  
Mobius had half-hoped Nottingham would be awake when he came in, but knew it unlikely. The young man had consumed enough alcohol to send his system into shock. Even with immediate care, the worst of the damage had already been done.  
  
Moby could only hope that Nottingham would be able to perform his duties in the morning. It would be a bad thing to be singled out in a negative light on the first day. That sort of thing stuck with one's superiors, and they'd label Nottingham as a problem in their minds forever.  
  
To his relief, Nottingham appeared to be sleeping naturally when he entered the room. He had to hand it to the doc; she'd gotten him back on base, patched, and cleaned him up without raising any flags. Moby wished she'd had some other soap available for the cleaning though, Nottingham smelled strongly of sandalwood and musk.  
  
Determined to get the smell of stale smoke and alcohol off, Moby picked up a change of clothes and headed for the showers. He was quick, wanting to get a few hours sleep before roll call. His head hit the pillow, and his last thoughts before sleep claimed him were for the doc. She had given up her evening to help out. She had also passed on to him information about Nottingham, instead of using that knowledge to get him yanked from the project, which meant that he and his fellow Dragons had at least one person on the other side they could trust to see them as something other than test subjects. 


	26. Chapter 26: Unforseen consequences

BDP 26  
The next two weeks passed in a whirl of happiness for Nottingham. He didn't even mind the injections or the cortex stimulations. Even the frequent trips into the imaging machine to photograph brain activity could not dampen his spirits. Mobius, just call me Moby, had become more than a bunkmate, and more than his unit leader. He had become a friend. The first one Ian had ever been allowed to have.  
  
For that reason alone Nottingham would have endured much worse than their poking and prodding. Not that what they were doing to them was painless, oh no. It just seemed worth it for him. He was actually faring better than some of the other members of the unit, who complained of headaches and nightmares.  
  
He had dreams about Moira, and the things they had done together. It was far from the materials that nightmares were made of.. Which had led to some startling and embarrassing moments, however. He had awakened burning with desire, or worse, the sheets sticky with the results of his dreaming. Moby had told him such things were common, and were a healthy sign. He had even admitted to having it happen to himself, which relieved Ian immensely.  
  
If he knew whom Ian had been dreaming about, he never mentioned it.  
  
Nottingham did his best to keep silent; although there were times he was bursting to share his feelings about Moira with Moby. He was beginning to think he was in love, but having never felt such a thing, he would have liked to discuss it with someone.  
  
Ian and Moira had not found a way to be alone again, and the only physical closeness they managed was limited to casual-seeming touches. Some days it was so hard to not grab that blasted clipboard, toss it across the room, and pull Moira into his arms. He had whispered his urge to her once, and the look she had given him in return was filled with the desire for him to do just that. Caution had prevailed, but it remained one of Ian's favorite nocturnal fantasies.  
  
They had a great deal of time together after the injections, as it was part of her job to monitor their reaction to the drugs. They had learned a lot about each other, and their newfound knowledge brought them closer together.  
  
All subjects were proceeding better than anyone had projected, even with the setback that had occurred on the first day. The drug therapy was stepped up, and a new chemical series was added as well. Moira had warned them that the chimps had responded to the secondary phase with increased aggression and territoriality. Ian had not really thought about what that would mean until.  
  
The red haze receded from his mind, and he was dimly aware of the fact that there were several sets of restraining hands keeping him from moving forward. Ian shook his head, trying to make sense of the situation he found himself in, but he couldn't remember anything. The burning in his knuckles told him he had struck something repeatedly, but he didn't know what or why. It was frightening, this hole in his mind.  
  
A dark head came into view, the harsh overhead lights reflecting off the sheen of sweat on Moby's forehead. Calm brown eyes gazed into Ian's dilated amber ones, "It's all right Nottingham. Take a deep breath, and relax. We are your brothers, and we are with you."  
  
Moby was an anchor in the storm Ian's mind had become. He stopped straining against the hands and arms holding him. "What happened Moby?"  
  
"I was hoping you could tell me." Mobius raised a brow.  
  
"Everything is still hazy. The last think I remember was getting the injections and watching the training tapes." Ian was still except for the small tremors chasing through his frame from adrenaline bleed-off.  
  
The other members of his unit slowly eased away from Nottingham, ready to pounce again if need be. They all looked concerned, and a bit frightened. Ian was not happy to realize they were afraid of him and what he'd done.  
  
"I'll tell you what happened, you fucking prick. You jumped me. I was just talking to the Doc when you came over the lab table like it wasn't even there and you hit me." Beck glared at Nottingham as best he could with one eye swollen shut. His lip was split, there was bruising along the left side of his face, and blood liberally decorated his torn shirt.  
  
Ian stood in silent horror. He had done that? He glanced over at the table, trying to remember something, anything. The table was six feet by four feet, and covered with equipment. None of it was broken or disturbed, which meant he had to have leapt, clean over it from a nearly standing start. He was athletic, not Superman. The jump should not have been possible. Slowly he walked around it, wondering if Beck was exaggerating.  
  
He finally ended up where he must have started and looked across the table at the group. They had not followed him around. There was a ripple as they were shoved aside, and Moira stood in their midst. She looked upset.  
  
Suddenly the veil cleared. He remembered walking into the room for the check up that they always did after a session. Moira had been finishing up with Beck, who had made an insinuation and tried to kiss her.  
  
Ian had been furious that Beck was trying to touch his woman. His reaction had been as instantaneous as a match to gasoline, and just as dangerous. He had wanted to kill, had intended to kill. Thinking about it brought the red back to the edges of his vision. He felt his hands clench and his upper lip curl as he fought back a snarl of rage.  
  
"Never, ever, try to touch her again." Nottingham's voice was filled with barely contained fury, and the glare he leveled on Beck was merciless. He shifted it to include the rest of the men in the room.  
  
Beck stiffened in surprise, "All this because I made a pass at the only woman in the compound?"  
  
"You call grabbing her and trying to kiss her a pass?!" Ian roared in disbelief.  
  
The rest of the unit was now looking at Beck as well, who replied self-consciously, "Well not exactly, it was like it was me, but it wasn't. I hit on Doc, she started to blow me off, and suddenly I got mad. She wasn't giving me a chance. I would like to chalk it up to proximity and frustration. I don't know if it's a side effect of the injections or not, but I've been horny as hell all week."  
  
"It may well be the injections, coupled with the visual stimuli. Is everyone feeling this way?" Moira looked around the room. Most of the men wouldn't meet her eyes, which told her everything she needed to know.  
  
"Well, considering the target area of this project, we should have anticipated this possibility. We may have to adjust the treatments. I will confer with my colleagues." Moira left to get Matheson and Weis. They, being guys, might stand a better chance of getting honest replies to the questions that were going to have to be asked. 


	27. Chapter 27: Assessing the damage

BDP 27 A/N: Ok, this is gonna be a technical chapter. I have been doing a lot of reading, trying to figure out just what exactly they did to the Dragons. I may not be right on, but I'm no doctor either. If anyone spots any errors, please enlighten me. Please note, this is only an early stage of the training. Wait until they start tampering with the paleopallium. I think I've been reading to many of these medical texts, that thought excites me. *sigh*  
I could only stare at the pages of collected data. What I was seeing was so far from what we had anticipated that I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say at first. We had estimated it would take three times longer for the human brain to respond than it had for the chimps. After all, the simians had not had twenty years of social conditioning to override. They relied far more on the archipallium and the sympathetic nervous system for daily survival, so really there wasn't much neocortex activity to subvert. The human brain should have been more difficult to alter, right?  
  
We were wrong. Very, very wrong. The paraventricular nuclei were already twice the standard size, as were the adrenal medulla. This would explain the increased aggression. The adrenal medulla was releasing adrenalin and noradrenalin in correspondingly higher amounts. The pons, cerebellum, mesencephalon, and the globus pallidus were also enlarged. That did not bode well, as they controlled balance, muscles, and autonomic functions such as breathing and heartbeat.  
  
Of course Ellis had been excited about the development, postulating that in later stages the subjects would possess superior balance and muscle control. They would be able to deliberately alter their state of consciousness, metabolic rate, and hormone secretion. He completely ignored the potential for megalomania, obsessive/compulsive disorders, and paranoid delusions. I didn't think he cared about the Black Dragons mental health in the least, self-absorbed little bastard that he is.  
  
The higher ratio of activity on the sympathetic nervous system, at least, had not been a surprise. We had expected that, given the cerebral cortex stimulation. It was what we had intended. It had shown up on the day- to-day observations we had been running.  
  
With the perfect vision of hindsight, these developments could have been caught much earlier if we had been running full diagnostics or CAT scans. Instead we had been using a very specialized piece of equipment that monitored the surges along the neural net called an N.N.I. (neural net imager). It had been devised to monitor the chimps, and later recalibrated for humans. It did its job brilliantly, especially considering that brain functions are never exclusively cortical or limbic, so it must be able to track through the entire brain and log initiation and termination points. The N.N.I. just wasn't designed to do anything else or give any other data.  
  
Well, it was too late for that kind of thinking anyway. The only thing we could do now was adjust the drug therapy, and alter the training videos. It was possible that without the additional drugs, the enlarged areas of the archipallium would recede. They might even return to normal proportions, but it was unlikely.  
  
"One thing I've been considering in light of these developments is giving each subject personalized training videos, instead of the group ones. I have enough individual data now to do so." Quinn, who headed the behavioral side of the research, cut into the little bubble of shock I was still sitting in.  
  
"Personalized how?" I could hear the censure in my voice, but right now I was too upset to care. There were far to many of my peers considering this as an opportunity instead of a dangerous error to be corrected.  
  
"I was thinking about including mythical imagery. It would give them something larger than themselves to identify with." Quinn smiled triumphantly toward the room at large, and I knew this wasn't a new idea.  
  
He must have been working on this for a while. It could have even been part of his original proposition and they had not allowed him to do it, for one reason or another. Either way, Quinn had seen an opening to push his pet theory into operation, and he was taking it. Actually, it didn't sound like a bad idea. Myths held a lot of power over the subconscious mind. Perhaps it would help the Dragons wend their way through the maze of tampered reality we were sending them into. 


	28. Chapter 28: Casca

BDP 28  
Ian and Moby were waiting in the common area for Moira. They knew she, at least, would tell them the truth. The rest of the Dragons were in the exercise room, having complete faith in their appointed representatives to discover exactly what was going on.  
  
It had been something of a surprise to Nottingham when they had chosen him, considering he was not comfortable being a leader like Moby. He had always been a subordinate growing up, and he found it hard to break the habit. Perhaps they had elected him because of the incident this morning? Ian did have an even more vested interest in finding out what was going on than they did, as it seemed he was the most strongly affected.  
  
"Moby, about this morning." Ian began, only to be cut off by Mobius.  
  
"It's all right Nottingham. That wasn't you; it was a combination of the conditioning and the drugs they've been giving us. However, you have made your feelings about the good doctor much more clear than is good for you." One side of his mouth curled up in a grin that was part humor and part grimace. Nottingham had made for himself a hard row to hoe. The military was very strict on their no-frat rules, especially in this kind of setting.  
  
The other Dragons had agreed to keep the truth behind Nottingham's outburst to themselves. Even Beck had even been relatively graceful about it, all things considered. Although the rest of the unit didn't think there was anything truly going on between the two beyond mutual attraction, and a crush of massive proportions on Ian's side.  
  
Moby was not so sure that it was that simple, but he kept his opinion to himself. No good could come of it, and he might be wrong. He didn't think so; Nottingham's response to Beck's advances was rather excessive for a crush. No one flew into a violent rage, even with the treatments they'd been receiving, unless they felt they had a claim to defend. He didn't know how it had happened, or when, but the two had to have gotten closer than the mild flirtation that they had been able to pursue in the lab.  
  
Down the hall, they could hear the staff room door open. Both men tensed as they waited, listening to the low murmurs of the group as they left the complex. The emergency meeting had run later than anticipated, and everyone wanted to go. They had already separated into little clusters, still discussing their personal theories among those who were like-minded.  
  
Rather than the light step of Dr. Burke, they heard a heavier tread approaching the common area. Nottingham and Mobius flicked a little glance between them and stepped slightly apart. They wanted room to move, if necessary.  
  
Dr. Casca strode into view. He was the 'civilian advisor' from Vorshlag, and the actual head of the project. It was not his title, but Dr. Pym, who supposedly was, deferred to his will constantly. It was not difficult to see where the true power lay. Casca was built like a wrestler going to seed. He had the beginnings of a gut, and his muscles were losing their tone. His eyes were flat grey, like old concrete, and about as expressive. Whatever intelligence moved behind those eyes was no longer hampered by humanity. His hair was buzzed so short it was impossible to tell what color it was.  
  
"The testing has shown that there is nothing to be concerned about. We were simply giving to high a dosage for your bodies to assimilate safely. We will be cutting back on the amounts given, and we will be changing your training tapes. If any of you continue to experience unusual responses to the therapies, please alert the nearest medical technician or doctor." Casca gave them a smile, perhaps meaning to reassure them, but it reminded the two uncomfortably of a shark about to bite.  
  
Mobius was about to ask questions, for he had a great many of them, when Nottingham touched his arm. Heeding his brother's warning, he simply replied, "Yes sir."  
  
"Yes sir." Nottingham added when the cold eyes shifted to him. He had seen Casca at work before, and it was best not to give him any idea what you were truly capable of. He was one of Mr. Irons most efficient employees, by simple virtue of the fact that he didn't care what he did to achieve results. Ian had worked very hard not to come to this man's attention.  
  
Besides, Moira would find a way to tell them what was really going on. They would just have to be patient. He watched Casca leave the room, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.  
  
Mobius opened his mouth to speak, but Ian held up a hand for silence, then made the gesture for 'false trail'. He did not put it past Casca to be standing just inside hearing range. "Well, that's a relief. I was afraid it would be something more serious."  
  
"Let's go tell the others. It will relieve their minds to know." Mobius nodded, respect for Nottingham's subterfuge glinting in his eyes. 


	29. Chapter 29: The Net Tightens

BDP29 A/N: Cian is the Celtic god of medicine. "Attached to the SS main offices was a research foundation known as the Experiments Ahnenerbe. The scientists attached to this organization are stated to have been mainly honorary members of the SS. During the war an institute for military scientific research became attached to the Ahnenerbe which conducted extensive experiments involving the use of living human beings." [Trial of the Major War Criminals, vol. I, p. 269, Nuremberg, 1947.] Like most doctors, Burke has read about the human experimentation that happened during the Holocaust. Want to bet Kenny had his busy little fingers in that too? Come on. I'll give you good odds. Really. Ok, so he was. (But that's a story for another day)  
I waited in my office for twenty minutes, rereading the files. I wanted to give Casca plenty of time to say his piece and leave. The less contact I had with him, the happier I was. He reminded me of the predators who lived on the fringes of Belfast's poor section.  
  
Not to say he looked Irish, he was actually very Germanic, he even had the slightest accent. But the eyes, the way he held himself, were very much the same. You knew he had no limits, no moral constraints. I had disliked him at first meeting, purely on principal, but was coming to hate him with the intensity of sunlight burning through glass the longer I worked with him.  
  
Thank Cian; I did not have to do that very often. Casca mostly concerned himself with the higher echelon, cracking the whip over the actual department heads. He never was very quiet about it either. The things I had overheard made me furious. He browbeat Dr. Pym until the poor man didn't even try to make an independent decision.  
  
Tonight's meeting was a perfect example. Instead of taking them completely off the drugs and running a series of tests to see if the effects were permanent, they were going to lower the dosage, and gradually bring it back up. The theory being that they might be able to use the training videos to instill controls. They would, theoretically, be able to channel the increased aggression into more appropriate directions.  
  
There wasn't a moment of consideration taken for what it would do to the volunteers. No one even raised the question of whether or not to tell the Dragons what we had done to them. We all knew better than to ask, and we knew that asking would only earn us verbal abuse and increased attention in the future.  
  
Throughout the meeting Casca never even referred to them by name, only by subject number so-and-so. I found his attitude callous, even for a scientist. We must remain objective, but that does not mean we should completely disregard the Dragons' mental well-being. We were not experimenting on little white mice; we were experimenting on people. What we were doing could have irreversible consequences, such as seizures or permanent brain damage for them.  
  
If I added twenty years to his age, and a swastika armband, Casca would fit right in with the last surviving members of the Ahnenerbe Foundation. I wondered what kind of monster owned Vorshlag Industries, to have such a man placed so highly in their company.  
  
Deciding I had waited long enough, I straightened the little piles of paper on my desk. I had separated the reports by area to make it easier to cross-reference data. I used to lock my notes away to keep my ideas from being stolen, but not any more. Now I wrote everything in Gaelic. Not only did it force me to keep up my native language, but it was a great deal better than coming up with some secret code that I'd just forget anyway.  
  
Nobody in their right mind studies Gaelic, it is on it's way to becoming a dead language. Even back home, everyone used English for everyday conversations. The street signs were English and Gaelic. Even most church services were in English or Latin. The Welsh were better at keeping their language alive, but I think they did it so they could chant really rude things at the English teams during rugby games and not get it bleeped on the BBC.  
  
Of course, I did the same thing. Some of my 'notes' were actually scathing commentary on the intelligence and possible ancestry of my superiors and/or their ideas. I'd done a lot of that form of note-taking today. I chuckled a little at that and headed out the door to tell the Dragons what was really going on.  
  
I was halfway out the door when Weis gently pushed me back into the office saying, "We have to talk."  
  
There was a slight crease in his forehead, so I knew he was stressing. I sat on the edge of my desk and waited, knowing he'd take a little while to get to the point.  
  
Weis paced in front of me for several minutes. I wasn't sure which particular bee had crawled up his bonnet, after the meeting I had a few myself, but he was in a real lather. Finally he stopped in front of me, his blue eyes cloudy from his inner turmoil. "Moira, I know what you're about to do and I am here to ask you not to."  
  
Weis called me by my first name? He never did that. I was always Burke or Bunsen, just as he was always Weis or Honeydew and Matheson was Beaker. So I bit back my first response, which was sarcastic, and asked, "What is it, exactly, that you think I'm about to do?"  
  
"You're about to throw away your career." Weis gave me a hard look. I think he could hear the sarcastic voice that lived inside my head whether I verbalized her comments or not.  
  
"I am not throwing away my career. We have a responsibility, not just as scientists but also as human beings. Even if we cancelled the project right now, they've only got a twenty percent chance of returning to normal brain function. If we continue to give them the serum, even in miniscule amounts, they are courting a rather daunting host of side effects. Those eleven lives we're playing with deserve to know what has been done to them. They have every chance of becoming clinically insane, suffering strokes, even having aneurisms massive enough to kill." Forget sarcasm, he was going to get a nice big serving of Catholic guilt, just like my mother used to make.  
  
"If you tell them everything, you are never going to be trusted with a project this sensitive again. It won't matter how good you are any more, the black mark in your file will never go away. Casca is just waiting for you to fuck up. He doesn't think women have any business coming out of the kitchen any more than Ellis does, and he's in a position to make his prejudice painful for you." Weis grabbed my shoulders and leaned in, his face close to mine for emphasis.  
  
I slid my hands up between our bodies and shoved with my forearms, knocking his hands off, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Are you telling me to sit quietly by on this one, knowing what it could mean to them?"  
  
"Yes I am. I don't want to see all that brilliance and hard work go to waste because you couldn't control your conscience. I mean really, what did you think was going to happen? It's not like you didn't know coming into this project that there would be human subjects. You need to develop some detachment, stop being so friendly with them. It's like petting the lab mice." Weis growled back, and began pacing again.  
  
"I do not pet the mice." I crossed my arms and glared. I was trying very hard not to say things I'd regret, but his attitude was really pissing me off. Being female was not a handicap, no matter what the others believed.  
  
"I knew you'd be like this. I knew it." Weis muttered to himself as he stalked from one end of the office to the other.  
  
"Yeah, you should have. I, unfortunately, can't say the same. I never would have expected to hear this from you. It doesn't sound like you at all." I watched him go, wondering at his uncharacteristic behavior.  
  
I stared at him, the light slowly dawning. He was scared for me. He'd heard something he wasn't telling me, something bad. "All right, spill it."  
  
"I overheard Casca and Pym. Well, to be more accurate, I heard Casca telling Pym and Pym making little affirmative noises. He is sure you're going to tell the Dragons the truth, especially after your attitude today in the meeting. He wants you to tell them, to be in trouble so you'll agree to his terms in order to stay on the project and keep any disciplinary remarks off your file. He's had audio and video surveillance installed in all the areas that the Dragons have access to. As soon as you reveal classified information to them, you're busted." Weis stopped in front of me.  
  
"Agree to what?" I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.  
  
"I'm not sure exactly, but I know that Quinn looked at you and then Casca before pushing his pet project. I can't shake the feeling that it's all linked somehow. I also suspect that Casca knew what was going to happen. He didn't seem upset or surprised in the least." Weis was off again, making another circuit of the room.  
  
"Yeah, he had way to many answers for someone walking into the meeting cold. Too bad I can't get hold of his notes. I bet they're fascinating." I flexed my fingers avariciously. I'd love to get my hands on those pages.  
  
"Good luck. Even if you could get them, I bet he has them triple-encrypted, backwards, and upside down." Weis rolled his eyes.  
  
"Then I have a chance. My big fear was that he had handwriting like yours." I grinned and tried to trip him as he went by again.  
  
"You should have asked for clarification before adding the nitric acid." Weis dodged my foot and chuckled.  
  
It was an old joke, much worn with time, but still a humorous memory. He was right, I should never have tried to work from his instructions without using a translator. I had blown up half a lab table and set the research back a month as the explosion contaminated most of our samples.  
  
"Now that you have weaseled everything I know out of me, I want you to promise not to tell the Dragons what is going on." Weis stopped his pacing to give me a look designed to encourage me to agree with him.  
  
Even after everything he had said, I still though the Dragons deserved to know the truth, so I hedged, "I'll be very careful."  
  
"I'm not leaving this room until you promise me." Weis crossed his arms and waited.  
  
I knew that look, and I knew that he could give stubborn lessons to a mule. "I won't tell them everything, all right?"  
  
"Don't tell them anything, period." Weis countered.  
  
"Look, I'm not going to lie to them." I sighed. This was going to take a while. 


	30. Chapter 30: Deceit

BDP30  
The Dragons were all sitting around the recreational area, talking in hushed tones when Moira Burke walked in. Ian smiled at her and stood with old-fashioned courtesy. He had been hovering around the door waiting for her until the rest of his unit teased him unmercifully for it. Nottingham had finally sat down, just to get them off his case. He knew they didn't mean anything by it, but it made him uncomfortable all the same.  
  
Moira smiled back at him, but there was something off. She seemed distracted and upset. Ian wanted to go to her, but he knew that now was not the time or the place. He contented himself with watching her as she spoke.  
  
Mobius fired off a spate of highly technical questions as soon as the door closed behind Burke. She replied in the same vein. The Dragons waited, initially content to let their leader ask the questions. Their heads moved slightly back and forth, rather like watching a tennis tournament, as the conversation moved rapidly beyond their understanding.  
  
"This is all very fascinating I'm sure, but could we have non-geek subtitles for those of us who are just here to kill things?" Rook rolled his eyes, his patience exhausted.  
  
"The new drug therapy was to much, to fast. We were basing our dosages on the data we had collected during an earlier study done with chimps. The amounts were increased based on the differences in body mass, actual use of the archipallium, and metabolism. Unfortunately, this was not the correct dosage. The archipallium, also known as the Basal or Reptile brain, has been enlarged very quickly, instead of the slow gradual growth we had projected. The adrenal medulla is one of the areas affected, which is pumping additional adrenaline into your body. As a result, you have not been given the time or tools necessary to deal with the increased output from this part of your brain. This manifests itself in aggressive and territorial behavior." Moira paused to see if she had made it simple enough for the others.  
  
"So, the fact that I suddenly need lots of personal space and feel like hitting things for no apparent reason is because my brain is expanding?" Taurins shook his head slightly, eyes flicking up briefly from his sketchbook, as if surprised that could be the cause.  
  
"My brain isn't the only thing that's expanding." Beck leered as much as he could with his face swollen from yesterday's beating.  
  
Moira felt a blush heat her cheeks. She had really hoped not to be the one to explain this part, "Right, the primal instincts are coming to the fore. That means the drive to propagate as well, I'm afraid. We did see this behavior in the chimps as well, but it's not like we can put you in separate cages and bring in females."  
  
"Ohhh, cages. I didn't know you were that kinky Doc." Rook chimed in. The teasing was something of a defense mechanism, but it helped finish what Beck had started, defusing the tension in the room.  
  
"You should have seen the requisition slips we had to fill out for that." Moira grinned, willing to go along with the change of mood.  
  
"Creative writing at it's finest, I'm sure." Taurins agreed, looking up from his drawing.  
  
"You will be happy to know that we are using that creativity on your behalf right now. Quinn is working on bringing in prostitutes, since we really can't let you out among the civilian population at this juncture. An outburst like Nottingham had yesterday would have killed an untrained man. The brass isn't going to let us court that kind of attention." Moira lost her humor. She didn't know how she was going to handle watching Ian with one of the 'ladies of the evening'. Just thinking about it sent a spike of jealousy through her.  
  
"So what is going to be done about keeping things like that from happening here?" Mobius reentered the conversation.  
  
"We are cutting the dosage back from 200 cc's to 20 cc's, increasing your daily workout regimen," she paused for the chorus of groans, "and we're changing your training tapes."  
  
"Are we going to get some recreational tapes while they're at it?" Rook bobbled his eyebrows, voice full of suggestion.  
  
"I rather doubt it. Turn your hand over, I've been told it makes it feel like somebody else is doing it." Moira retorted in the same vein.  
  
"So how long am I going to be stuck with Rosie? I know how the military is with requisition forms, even the creatively worded ones, and I will probably have carpal tunnel by the time the paperwork passes over the appropriate desk." Beck asked, holding his hand out in front of his face for inspection.  
  
"We have a pretty high priority with the guys upstairs. They might approve our request by Thursday, which would mean you could be getting laid by this time Saturday." Moira flinched slightly at the thought.  
  
It wasn't much of a reaction, but when Moira looked up, both Ian and Moby were watching her. Ian looked hopeful; he hadn't realized that they wouldn't be together when that happened. He'd be with someone else, and she'd have to stand by and let it happen.  
  
Mobius' face held understanding and compassion. It was nearly her undoing. Moira knew she had to get out before her resolve broke, but she couldn't just run off. It would make it clear to whoever was watching the surveillance footage just how upset she was at the idea. The last thing she needed was for Casca to realize she had a relationship with one of the Dragons. He'd really have her by the proverbial balls then.  
  
There was one other who had noticed that uncontrolled response, and Rook did the only thing he could think of to pull all the attention away from Burke and give her time to recover. The Doc had gone out of her way to take care of them, and he appreciated it more than his joking demeanor would ever outwardly show.  
  
"Well, if that's all the longer I'm gonna have to do this manually, I call dibs on the bathroom and Beck's porn stash!" Rook sprang off the couch and headed for the bunks.  
  
"Oh no you don't! The last magazine you had, you had to throw out because the pages all stuck together. There's no way I'm letting you near mine!" Beck cut him off from the door, and everyone took sides and joined the heckling.  
  
Moira took the opportunity to make good her escape, sliding out the door that led to the main lab areas. Guilt over not telling them the truth and jealousy over the idea of Ian with another woman combined to deafen her to the light tread dogging her footsteps.  
  
Ian followed her down the hall. He could not believe she had left so quickly, and without speaking to him. He let one hand lightly touch her shoulder and simply said, "Moira."  
  
She stopped, her feelings to raw to remain contained if she turned and looked at him, so she continued to face away from him. "Now is not a good time Nottingham."  
  
The ice in her voice made Ian stiffen and pull back his hand. What had he done wrong? In a hurt whisper he replied, "As you wish."  
  
"It's not what I wish, it's what has to be." Moira hunched her shoulders, her body giving away how miserable she really felt. "I can't talk right now."  
  
Ian slipped in front of her, needing to see her face. Since that night in the kitchen, they were very adept at reading each other's eyes. It had been their only truly intimate link in the weeks that followed. Moira tilted her head down and averted her eyes, denying him the contact he so desperately sought.  
  
One hand came up and cupped her cheek. Ian did not try to raise her head; he simply waited patiently for her to let him in. He was very good at waiting. Moira finally raised her head. Her eyes held guilt, jealousy, and under it all, fear.  
  
That one glance told Ian that Moira had not been completely forthcoming this evening. She was holding something back, not because she wanted to, but because she was afraid. The reason for the jealousy wasn't quite as clear.  
  
Surely she didn't think he would be with another woman simply to ease his flesh? The demands of the body could be ignored. He was much more familiar with that, as she was in a position to know intimately. Ian opened his mouth to speak and Moira reached up and squeezed his hand warningly.  
  
Moira took his hand and slid it up slightly, so his palm was directly over her jaw hinge. Her eyes warned him to pay attention and then the muscle just over her jaw jumped under his hand. It began to pulse rhythmically, and he realized with a start that it was Morse code.  
  
His eyes widened, but there was nothing else to betray his surprise. Ian had missed part of the first word, but she repeated it, 'Lab is bugged'  
  
"I am sorry Nottingham, it appears you've made more of our friendship than can ever be. I hope you understand, and are willing to retain what we've built. I would hate to lose you as a friend." Moira's eyes warned him to go with it.  
  
"The dreaded friend speech. Why thank you Doctor, for letting me down easy." Ian's tone suggested he felt anything but while his eyes held admiration for her creativity. His thumb was underneath her chin, in shadow, so he used it to lightly tap a reply on her skin, 'Where can we talk'  
  
'Nowhere inside. Must get out of lab' Moira clenched her jaw in response, all the while looking as though she were feeling caught in an unpleasant situation. "These feelings you're having are just another side effect of the drugs. You'll see, as soon as the serum levels in your body drop, you'll forget I'm anything but another scientist."  
  
Ian let his hand drop and said, "Perhaps." Then he turned and walked dejectedly back toward the room he had just left. Inwardly he was seething. The entire lab was being monitored, and Moira had obviously been threatened into silence. It was Casca's doing, he didn't doubt.  
  
Well, there were many ways around surveillance, and he was well acquainted with them all. It would not take him long to figure out where the blind spots were in their system, or to create them where it would be most beneficial. He was also going to make a few discreet calls once he was out. 


	31. Chapter 31

BDP31  
  
It was becoming more and more imperative that Ian find a way to speak to Moira, as they had a great deal to discuss. He was not at all happy with their very limited conversation, there were things he needed to know and things he needed to tell her. He was also, not that he wanted to admit it, feeling the secondary effects as strongly as his brothers were.  
  
It was taking all his considerable will not to take what his body was demanding. He knew exactly what he was missing, how could he not? She was right in front of him, dangerously close. If he could find a place they could be private.but there were no such safe locations.  
  
Ian felt a grudging admiration for Casca. The wily old bastard had made sure there were no holes in the lab areas' security to exploit. Over the past two days Nottingham had casually and subtly shifted furniture and equipment to make blind spots or set up audio interference. Almost everything was returned to its original position within a few hours. He hadn't found any way to have a more detailed conversation with Moira without being seen and heard.  
  
Many people would have been discouraged, but to Ian the little dance had shown him exactly where all the cameras and listening devices were. Knowledge was a priceless commodity, especially when one knew what to do with it.  
  
For instance, there was no infrared scanning, which meant that after 'lights-out' they had only the audio to go by. Ian had freely wandered the areas of the complex that did not require a passkey, and had not been intercepted. Bypassing the doors was an option, but he preferred not to use it. It was too easy to detect the tampering, and to predictable. Besides, it WAS too easy. Casca had to have a hidden redundancy to let him know if the doors had been accessed. He had been too careful with everything else to forget to take care of such an obvious weakness.  
  
Yet for all that caution, Ian had found two potential egress points that held fewer chances of being detected, even if used multiple times. The first being the air vents. The locks and alarms were child's play to bypass, and hard enough to get to that no one checked them regularly. Ian smiled slightly; it was ironic that the only reason he could get to them was the increased strength and agility given him by the drugs.  
  
The other option was the in the waste disposal area. Ian had discovered something interesting on his nocturnal wanderings. A few of the cleaning staff were making extra money smuggling misinventoried, old, and/or out of date equipment through an ancient stairwell that was tucked in behind the complex's massive incinerator. None of the scientists had any reason to go back there, and it probably didn't even show up on the updated schematics. Ian might have missed it too; if he hadn't been following a janitor who's behavior struck him as off. It was a crooked Requisitions Officer's dream, and possibly his key to freedom  
  
The only drawback to the hidden stairwell was that he didn't know where it let out. The venting was easy. He'd seen the concrete ends from the top of the firing range. They were hard to miss, as they stood the regulation four feet above ground and were curved to keep out rainwater. They were toward the rear of the base, just before the foothills began. There were fewer opportunities for cover that way, so he was hoping the stairwell exit would offer easier egress. Well, he was about to find out.  
  
The stairwell emptied out into a disused bunker, appropriately enough. The amount of equipment and dust told him people who were smuggling government property considered this a secure site, and had for a very long time. He would have to be careful not to be discovered by said personnel, but otherwise this offered him a much more protected route than the venting ducts.  
  
Alert and watchful for danger, Nottingham eased the door open and stepped out into the night. He was on the edge of the Motor Pool. An M75 APC sat conveniently in front of the ramp up from the bunker. It was doubtful that it would ever move from its current location, that style of tank having fallen out of use in the sixties. Of course, given the amount of rust on the treads and body, he wasn't at all sure it could be moved.  
  
Ian checked the area and found it abandoned. He moved quickly and quietly toward the base housing. 


	32. Chapter 32

BDP32  
I was having trouble sleeping. Ever since Weis had given me the heads up, I've been living a lie. The guilt alone would be enough to keep me from sleeping; the jealousy and fear were just frosting on the cake. I was worried about the Dragons and I was worried about myself.  
  
Weis had been right about Casca. He was waiting for me to screw up. I could feel him watching me. I was becoming as twitchy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, running purely on caffeine and adrenaline. The stress and lack of sleep were bound to catch up with me. I would start to make the mistakes he was watching for, simply out of sheer exhaustion.  
  
Today had been the worst. After two nights of no sleep and every effort at private communication foiled, there had been another staff meeting. Casca had watched me like a hawk the entire time. Since I was already irritable from the amount of caffeine I had consumed, his unwavering attention had made me combative.  
  
I sniped at him continually, earning looks of bafflement and fear from most of the staff. No one challenged Casca, or openly disagreed with him about anything these days. It wasn't healthy. I didn't care. I took every opportunity to verbally undercut him, ignoring the promised violence in his voice and body language.  
  
I'm sure everyone thinks I am morally outraged over the things we're doing, and that the prostitutes were the last straw. After all, I'm Irish Catholic. Pretty to think it was morals, but my reasons are not so pure as that. Oh, on one level I'm not happy with bringing in hookers simply because it is a profession demeaning to women, but it just isn't that simple.  
  
His little smirk when they handed out the dossiers on the prostitutes pushed my blood pressure through the roof. The fact that they had dossiers should have warned me what I would see when I opened the files, but it didn't. I thumbed through the pages with growing suspicion.  
  
These were not ordinary prostitutes. The local hookers and bar girls had never looked anything like this, nor did they have this kind of I.Q. rating. Or been tested for one, I'm sure. They had all signed a waiver regarding pregnancies too. I didn't need to read all the fine print to know what was going on. Someone wasn't content with training and modifying adults, they wanted to breed super soldiers from the ground up.  
  
The rest of the staff sat there, stunned by the sheer audacity of what lay before them. One thing leapt out of the small print at me, any fetal material became the sole property of Vorshlag Industries.  
  
I wanted to scream. Of course they signed their rights away. If they weren't Vorshlag employees, Vorshlag's people had recruited them, and they were almost certainly getting some kind of incentive if they turned up pregnant.  
  
The women already had designated partners on their dossier. How much more obvious could Casca make the fact that he had intended this all along? Trying to distract myself from the vein pounding in my temple, I went through the files, checking to see who had been paired with whom.  
  
There had not been anyone assigned to Nottingham. That couldn't be right? I looked through again and found nothing. I counted the women and found there were only ten of them, instead of eleven. Of course I had to say something sarcastic about Casca's inability to count.  
  
He rather calmly informed me that Nottingham had refused to participate, which struck me as odd. Casca should have been furious at being balked, especially as long as it looked like he'd been setting this up.  
  
A sudden and horrible suspicion filled me. Did he know about Ian and myself? Was that why he was so calm? Had he intended me to be number eleven all along, or was he taking advantage of the situation he had found?  
  
I turned my pillow over and punched it several times in frustration. Thoughts like that were not conducive to sleep. Of course he didn't know about Ian and myself, that was just lack of sleep and paranoia talking. I needed to calm down and get some rest, or I'd be even more worthless tomorrow.  
  
The ceiling had thirty-seven tiles, I knew that from the last two nights, but I counted them again anyway. I kept recounting, hoping to lull my brain to sleep. As tired as I was, it might have even worked, but the creaking of a loose floorboard in the living room jerked me back to full alert.  
  
There was a sealed vial of hydrochloric acid on my bedside table, and ether under the sink in the bathroom. Chlorine gas waited in a kitchen cupboard. I had started to bring chemicals home from the lab that weren't on the proscribed list, just in case. I palmed the acid and pretended to be sleeping. Whoever came through the door was going to get a nasty surprise. 


	33. Chapter 33

BDP33  
  
Finding Moira's apartment had been difficult; since the only think he knew was that she lived on base. Ian had broken into the office of the Housing Director and hacked his files to get an address. She was, as he suspected, in the set of buildings closest to Research and Development.  
  
In the future, that would make his life a great deal easier, not to have as much distance to cover without being detected. Even as good as he was, it only took one person at the wrong place at the wrong time, and he would be discovered. Military personnel were more alert than civilians, and harder to make them believe you were where you should be, when you weren't, once they saw you.  
  
Jimmying the lock to Moira's apartment had been much easier than it should have been. Ian would have to remember to tell her to get a better lock. He moved across the living room silently, admiring her decorating style. It was hard to get a feel for color in the moonlight, but the accents were natural wood, so he suspected the furniture was actually in natural colors like unbleached linen. There were a few pieces of art on the walls. Most were Fitzpatrick prints.  
  
One small painting stopped him. It was an original done in oil instead of a print. It showed a stone circle in winter, snow piled on the plinths. The only color was a tiny red fox sleeping in a hollow under the altar stone. The style was different, harsher and less stylized than a Fitzpatrick. There was a sense of great power at rest, as if the stones were merely sleeping, like the fox. He checked the usual places, but it was unsigned. The more he looked, the more familiar and compelling it seemed. Was it one of the circles he had seen while traveling with Irons?  
  
He moved away with reluctance, knowing he had more important things to discuss with Moira than a painting tonight. Ian moved down the hall, ignoring the creak of a floorboard. He was only trying to be silent enough to keep the neighbors from knowing he was here; he didn't care if Moira heard him moving around.  
  
Ian pushed the bedroom door open. The blinds were closed tight, and even less light penetrated the room. He paused to let his eyes adjust, waiting until the dark lumps resolved into dresser, bed, and bedside table before moving forward again.  
  
"Moira, wake up, love." Ian whispered as he drew near the bed.  
  
"Ian?" the response was soft and filled with surprise. Moira rolled over, all pretense of sleep forgotten.  
  
He moved the rest of the way to the bed, ready to embrace her at last. Instead of reaching for him, Moira held out one hand. "Just a minute accushla. Let me put this somewhere safe."  
  
A glass vial glinted in her hand as she opened a drawer and placed it carefully within. Ian watched curiously, "What is that?"  
  
"A little insurance policy I took out. I know I'm no commando, so I'm working with my strengths. Chemical warfare is something I understand very well." Moira looked up at him, and even in the darkness Ian could see the fear and determination in her eyes.  
  
"Why do you think you need 'insurance'?" Ian rolled the word around on his tongue, not liking the taste it left behind.  
  
"In a word, Casca. I've got a few cousins in strange places, and I asked them to look into the bastard and the company he's here representing. People who cross him tend to have very short careers and lives. If he decides I'm more trouble than I'm worth, or if he has some kind of plan for me," Moira paused grimly, and it was clear how likely she thought it was, "When I go down, I'm taking as many of his people with me as I can."  
  
Ian would have liked to say something comforting, but she was right. Casca was a ruthless man, and he did whatever it took to accomplish his goals. He wasn't sure what she meant by plan though. "Moira, what kind of plan do you think he has?"  
  
"Before I can explain that, I have to cover some background material with you. Firstly, the truth about what's been done to you. You were actually told the truth, as far as it went. What we didn't tell you was that increased activity in these areas of the brain are linked to certain forms of insanity. Enlargements in these same areas usually lead to strokes and aneurisms. That's just if one area is affected, but we've tampered with the entire archipallium. There's a thirty percent chance that because everything has been increased equally, you will be fine. No paranoia, no delusions of grandeur, no aneurisms. However, that means there's a seventy percent chance that you will experience one of more of these problems." Moira looked at him in concern. This was an abiding fear of hers that they should suffer, even die, for a mistake she helped make.  
  
"What can be done to improve our odds? Should we quit the program? I do not care for the idea of being mad or crippled." Ian sat on the edge of the bed, face full of concern.  
  
"At this stage, I don't think it would make a great deal of difference. The damage has been done. Even if you stopped taking the drugs right now, your brain will never return to its original size. At best it will decrease somewhat, and in an even fashion. In the worst case, it would decrease unevenly, leaving you with varying levels of sensory input and an unequal structure of the archipallium. You could end up a great deal worse off." Moira settled her hand over his, it was all the comfort she could give him.  
  
"How did the project get a green light if they knew this would happen to the test subjects?" Ian turned his hand over to grasp hers, and his voice was tight with anger.  
  
"We didn't know. The chimps never responded this strongly to the drug therapy. Actually growth was slow, it took almost eleven months for them to show a twenty five percent increase in the Basal brain. By the end of the two-year project, there had been a sixty-seven percent increase in their aggression levels, strength, and agility. Intelligence only increased thirty-six percent, but that was enough for the Brass to tap us for this project. There was every indication, from our research and projections, that the human brain would respond even slower, that's why this is a three- year project. They thought we would need the extra time." Moira's voice was heavy with irony on the final sentence.  
  
"Why is the reality so different from your projections?" Ian asked, although he was beginning to be distracted by the warmth of her hand in his, the feel of her thigh against his hip.  
  
"I think it comes back to Casca. When the Brass brought in Civilian Advisors from Vorshlag, things changed. Granted, they supplied us with several solutions to our simian to human conversion problems. I know that the formulae were altered based on the information they brought in without any additional testing done. You can bet Pym wouldn't have let that pass if he'd still had control of the project. For all his title, he's not in charge of dick anymore. Casca is. He says jump, and everyone asks if he wants fries with that." Moira rolled her eyes; she was disgusted with the lack of spine shown by her fellow researchers.  
  
"I admit to wondering how they got their information and why it was accepted without question, but they're a global corporation. Their research could have come from anywhere. I've also noticed that Casca isn't surprised by the results, which suggests to me that he knew perfectly well what was going to happen. I know he had the prostitutes lined up. You don't just find women like that on short notice. He's probably had them on retainer since the day we were open for business, which brings me to my first question. Why did you refuse to take the relief offered? I know you are feeling the same as the others." Moira flushed and lowered her eyes.  
  
"They are not whom I desire. My body burns for your touch, and yours alone." Ian's hand tightened over hers, his voice rough with emotion and hunger.  
  
"Please tell me that's not what you told Casca." Moira whispered, suddenly her earlier fears did not seem so groundless. 


	34. Chapter 34

BDP34 A/N: Mirage, that would be telling. All will be revealed in time. Muahahahaha  
"I did not have to. Casca knows me of old. When I told him I could not have anything to do with the women, he understood. He believes, as does Irons, that I am still pure." Ian smiled like a naughty schoolboy.  
  
The expression made Moira's stomach drop. He was so damn sexy, and he had no idea, which only served to increase the effect. It took her brain a minute to catch up with his statement, but when it did she hissed, "Casca knows you from somewhere else?"  
  
Ian flinched from the intensity in her tone. "Well yes. He works for Vorshlag Industries, and my father owns Vorshlag. He was the one who ordered me to participate in this experiment. Otherwise I would never have had anything to do with the project. My experience with scientists has been rather. negative. Present company excluded of course."  
  
"Your father ordered you to participate." Moira trailed off. She had to stop talking or she was going to start shouting. The pieces had begun to fall into place. His father had to be the one who had abused Ian, who left the scars on both body and mind. It was hard to contain her fury, to be mindful of the thin walls of her apartment. She reined it in, but the rage seethed just under her skin, seeking an outlet.  
  
"It's not as bad as it sounds. He couldn't possibly have known what was going to happen or he wouldn't have sent me. I am of no use to him mad. He wants me to be the Head of Security for Vorshlag Industries when I get out of the military." Ian said earnestly.  
  
Moira wasn't so sure, but she could see that Ian was. Changing that kind of indoctrinated thinking couldn't be done overnight anyway. She and Moby would have to work on him slow and steady, but she tried to get him thinking without feeling attacked. "He must have had some idea. After all, he had all the details of our research as well as Casca's. Of course, Casca could have withheld data. He seems the type."  
  
"Perhaps. If so, it is a mistake Casca will pay dearly for." Ian smiled grimly, thinking of the way Irons dealt with those who displeased him.  
  
"I just hope he is the only one who will have to pay." Moira thought of the potential unborn children Vorshlag owned the rights to. What kind of lives would they have, or would they be sacrificed on the altar of science?  
  
"What haven't you told me, mo rún?" Ian lifted his hand and cradled her face.  
  
"The prostitutes they're bringing in are ringers. They're Vorshlag employees, and they've all signed a waiver deeding any fetal material to Vorshlag Industries. I think Casca already knows what is going to happen with the testing. He just wants to see if it will breed true, and if it does, he wants to have used the best available genetic materials." Moira tilted her head against his hand, savoring the contact. Even with so many weighty things on her mind, his touch was to be enjoyed.  
  
"It is highly likely, given what I know of Casca. He came from Germany with my father, but is usually at one of the labs in Asia or South America. He has worked on a great many sensitive projects over the years. It would not surprise me in the least, but I don't know how we can prevent him from acquiring any offspring that might result." Ian looked at Moira with concern. There was no way his brethren would refuse the women, as he had. The drive was far too strong for that. If he didn't have such a strong tie to Moira, he might not have been able to resist the demands of his flesh either.  
  
An evil grin spread across Moira's face. Oh, she could put a spike in Casca's wheels yet; see if she couldn't. "Do bhéilín meala, that's it! There must be conception, which we can prevent! I can hand out condoms. It's part of the health code anyway, so no one can stop me from doing it. Besides, Casca probably expects me to attempt to block him, so I'll give him something obvious. That way he'll never be looking for the Dragons to administer a little contraceptive into the women's post-coital cocktail."  
  
"I will find a way to alert the rest of my unit, and get them your contraceptive. You will be to closely watched to be able to tell them. I doubt any of my unit would wish such a fate on their children." Ian paused and his eyes flickered with elation and fear, "You're not." he trailed off, uncertain how to finish the sentence.  
  
"No, I'm not. I take an oral contraceptive mostly because it keeps me on a regular cycle, so we're safe. It's a good thing too. Neither of us had condoms, and I don't know if we'd have had the willpower to wait." Moira smiled in remembrance. It had been a wild night.  
  
"I know I did not," Ian's eyes darkened as he too, remembered the events of that incredible night. 


	35. Chapter 35

BDP35  
Ian was holding on to his self-control with both metaphysical hands. He had been waiting for weeks to be alone with Moira. Finally here he was, sitting on the edge of her bed, and all they were doing was talking. The conversation was important, but as time went on it began to seem less so.  
  
He shifted slightly on the mattress, wondering how to broach the subject. Ian did not know how to redirect the situation without sounding crass. When Moira mentioned that first night they had together, he saw an opportunity to change the focus of the discussion. "Speaking of that night, I believe you owe me a shower check."  
  
"Yes, I do." Moira let her hand slide up from the hand she had been holding, over the crisp cotton of his b.d.u. shirt, to rest on his chest.  
  
Ian's heart was beating faster just from the touch of her hand. He wondered if she could feel it through her palm. "I feel like I've been starving for your touch."  
  
She leaned forward to kiss the hollow of his throat so he would not see the tears threatening to fall. He was not a casual toucher, like most people. He kept himself contained at all times. She had thought of it as natural reserve, but what if he didn't know how to reach out to others? Or didn't Ian think he was allowed? She moved her lips up the side of his neck until she could murmur against his ear, "I shall do my best to sate your hunger."  
  
Ian shivered at the heated whisper. His groan was much louder, "Moira."  
  
Moira covered his lips with her fingers, "Shhh, accushla. Bí ciúin. Remember this is base housing. The walls are like paper. Unless you want everyone to know what we're doing, best be quiet."  
  
"I don't know if I can be that quiet." Ian replied honestly, his body was already screaming. How long until his voice followed suit?  
  
"Let's move to the bathroom. The running water should muffle any sounds we make. I usually sleep with the fan on to create white noise; it helps block the neighbors out. I've just been to paranoid to have it on these last few nights." Moira tossed the sheet back and slid out of bed.  
  
Ian paused for a moment, content to watch her move. Moira was wearing a black slip-style nightgown that flowed around her legs like silk. She was a study in contrasts, the indifferent lighting leaching all color away. It left white skin with black hair falling to mingle with the black of her dress like an ink drawing from the twenties.  
  
"Were you coming?" Moira asked from the doorway. Ian had not moved from the bed.  
  
Ian stood silently. He stalked toward her, "Soon, mo rhun, but not before you."  
  
His words made her stomach tighten. Ian was radiating sexual hunger like a star. It was incredibly arousing. Part of her was amazed they'd gotten this far without either of them spontaneously combusting.  
  
The steady hiss of water on tile broke the silence. Moira slid the straps over her shoulders and let her nightdress drop to the floor. She glanced back over her shoulder at Ian, who hadn't moved from the doorway, "Aren't you a little overdressed?"  
  
"I was hoping you'd help me with that. I have this wonderful tactile memory of your hands unbuttoning my pants." Ian trailed off with a purr, his fingers playing along the fly of his trousers.  
  
"Ah, but don't you want to make new memories?" Moira arched a brow, "I seem to remember you wanting to try hard and fast."  
  
A flush, partly of embarrassment, partly of desire, suffused his cheeks. He rallied after a moment and replied, "If that is what you desire, I certainly won't object."  
  
"I've had more than a few dreams about it, I will admit. You gave me a bad time that night you know. I was trying to make your first experience everything it should be, and you were telling me you wanted to push me up against the wall and take me. You have the most incredibly sexy voice. I almost gave in and let you have your way, there at the end. I wondered about it after, how it would have felt. I was afraid I was never going to find out." Moira coyly glanced up at Ian through her lashes.  
  
"My voice is sexy?" Ian asked in surprise. He had never considered anything about himself 'sexy'.  
  
"Very sexy. Especially when you're saying something naughty. That day at the lab, when you told me you wanted to throw my clipboard across the room? I spent the rest of the day thinking about it. I didn't get a damn thing done for fantasizing about us having sex on the lab table." Now it was Moira's turn to blush. If the lab had not been bugged, she would have tried it by now.  
  
"Oh really?" Ian smiled wickedly, glad he was not the only one affected by the idea. He had spent many a restless night thinking about it as well. He eased the shirt over his head, paused for a moment, and tossed it behind him.  
  
The slow baring of chest held her gaze captive. Then, just when he was stretched full length, he paused. Ian was giving her a nice unobstructed view before dropping his hands to the first button on his waistband. When her brain could work again, Moira wondered if he'd done that on purpose. Deciding that fair was fair, Moira mimicked his pose, stretching her arms above her head and arching her spine.  
  
It was too much for Ian in his current state. All rational thought drowned under a wave of desire. He stalked toward her, half- unbuttoned trousers riding low on his hips. 'Hard and fast' had just expanded to include 'now'.  
  
Some feminine instinct warned her that Ian was not playing any more. The intensity of his gaze was both exciting and a little frightening. She gave ground as he moved, backing slowly into the shower. Moira barely felt the stream of water striking her flesh, so absorbed was she in Ian's burning amber gaze.  
  
Ian paused just outside the open shower door. He toed his boots off while watching the water slide down Moira's ivory flesh to bead in her black hair. The droplets glistened like diamond in the dim light, drawing the eye. He wanted to follow the path of moisture with his hands and lips.  
  
His hands moved to finish unbuttoning his trousers, the motion drawing Moira's attention back down to the arrow of dark hair. It disappeared into the shadow made by the tantalizing vee of fabric. She remembered how springy and slightly coarse the hair had felt under her hands.  
  
Moira was tempted to step out of the spray and help him, despite her teasing words earlier. It was as much a pleasure for her as for him to help take his clothes off. Maybe more.but she wanted this to be at his pace and she didn't think he had the patience left for a slow unveiling. Especially as she didn't think she could keep from nibbling and licking every inch she freed from it's cloth covering.  
  
She watched as he hooked his fingers under the waistband and shoved. It was a violent burst of motion that told Moira she was right; he was at the end of his patience. He kicked his pants free of his feet. Then he leaned over to remove his socks, exposing a long length of spine.  
  
When he straightened Moira shivered at the wildness in his eyes, in spite of the warm water. His face was a mask of need and hunger as he moved into the shower. He reached out and pulled her to him, dropping his head to ravage her mouth.  
  
Her head bent back under the onslaught, arching her white neck. Once he had thoroughly explored the recesses of her mouth, he moved to her exposed throat. A soft whimper escaped Moira's passion-swollen lips as he closed his teeth over the side of her neck. It was a move of possession, and she knew that she was now marked.  
  
The small sound was all the encouragement Ian needed. His hands roved feverishly over her body as he worked to indelibly imprint the feel of his beloved in his hands. Moira was a heady combination of soft and strong, the muscles under the skin sleek and well delineated without being masculine.  
  
It was rather like stroking a cat. His cat. It was very important that she understand that she belonged to him and him alone. The thought of another male touching her like this made him growl possessively and tighten his grasp. Moira gave a gasp of protest at the sudden constriction. Ian misinterpreted the sound, believing it to be an objection to his claim.  
  
That was not to be tolerated. Moira was his, and there was no room in him for ambivalence. She was going to know, to the depths of her soul, that she was his mate. He inserted a foot between hers and used it to broaden her stance. It left her completely open to his touch. He placed his left hand on the small of her back, to keep her from moving away while his right moved to the black curls that crowned the juncture of her thighs.  
  
She arched under his ardent touch, finding it infinitely more exciting than the practiced hands of any of her previous lovers. Perhaps it was the possessiveness. He wasn't just touching; he was claiming. When he inserted one finger into her, it was too much for her overloading senses. She bucked up against his hand, biting her lip to keep from screaming in pleasure.  
  
Her reaction fanned the flames burning in his groin. He buried his face in her hair with a groan. He wanted to drive himself in her to the hilt. Moira was more than ready for him, he could feel her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around his forefinger. He couldn't wait any longer. He removed his hand, despite her almost incoherent complaint, and placed it on her hip.  
  
Ian shifted, trying to find the right angle for penetration. The difference in height meant he had to bend his knees somewhat. He was almost too excited for control, his shaft rubbing along her clitoris as he moved against her. Moira reached down to help him, as she was all but frantic from the stimulation for him to continue.  
  
A low growl trickled from Ian's lips. He didn't want any help, however well meant. He grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head against the shower wall. He was taking her, not the other way around. Not this time. He deepened his stance slightly and everything suddenly lined up. He flexed his hips, thrusting into her as deeply as he could.  
  
Moira gave a soft cry and arched under him. She could not move much, he had her well and truly pinned to the cool tile wall. His body blocked most of the spray from the shower, but the water poured over him and down across her body in rivulets. She could easily close her eyes and pretend they were under a waterfall in the jungle. It was a more fitting surrounding to their primal mating than her plain old shower. She surrendered to the moment and gave her self up into his keeping.  
  
Ian was relentless, pounding into her with a strong and steady rhythm. He had shed all his formidable restraint, and was vaguely aware that his behavior was very atypical. He didn't care. The only thing that was important now was the drive to mate. He had to get deeper, needed to spill his seed in her womb. His thrusts were driving her back into the tile, but Moira didn't seem to mind, so he didn't temper his strength.  
  
His female writhed under him, demanding more with her cries, and he was more than willing to accommodate her. Ian increased his pace, watching her reaction. Her head tilted back against the white tile, exposing her throat, as she moaned in response. With a surge of satisfaction he gazed at the mark darkening the side of her neck. His brand of possession was there for all the others to see. He would kill any male who touched her. He dropped his head and licked the bruise, following the line of her throat down to sink his teeth into the spot where neck and shoulder met.  
  
The merging of pain and pleasure sent Moira over the edge. She choked back a shout, knowing that the sound of running water would not cover such a sound, as the orgasm took her. The feel of her muscles contracting around him was enough to bring Ian over the edge with her. He gave a final thrust and came with a muffled roar of masculine triumph.  
  
Pinwheels of light danced behind her eyes, and she left them closed in bliss for a moment longer before opening them again. Ian was watching her when she opened her eyes. Sated sapphire met feral amber, and Moira realized he was not yet done. 


	36. chapter 36

BDP36b  
  
Ian used his control of her hands to turn her around. Mindful of what Moira had told him earlier about his voice, he whispered in her ear, "Lean forward and brace against the wall. I want to touch you."  
  
She shivered at the intensity in his tone and did as Ian requested. He lifted her hair and moved it all to one side, allowing him to explore more freely. Moments ago Moira would have sworn she was exhausted, the tension of the last few days dissipated by the mind blowing pleasure she had so recently experienced. Yet her body responded to his resumed attention, her heart rate accelerating with anticipation.  
  
Taking advantage of the exposed expanse of marble pale flesh, Ian nibbled lightly at the base of her neck, his hands running down her sides and around to cup her breasts. He kneaded them firmly, his thumbs brushing repeatedly over the hardened crests.  
  
Moira whimpered and arched under his hands. The light teasing movements over her sensitive nipples were sending corresponding darts of pleasure down to her groin. Her hands flexed against the wall as she begged, "Ian please,"  
  
"Please what?" He purred against her ear.  
  
"You're an evil, evil man." Moira gasped, regretting ever telling him about the way his voice affected her.  
  
"I haven't even begun to show you evil." Ian grinned devilishly behind her as he lightly pinched her aroused nipples. The urgency he had felt during their first joining had subsided into something more manageable, allowing him the breathing space to play.  
  
"Then what.exactly, is.evil?" Moira panted, her breath coming short as he continued his delightful torment.  
  
Ian chose to show her, instead of tell. He knelt behind her and licked, kissed and nipped from her ankles up. He paused to give extra attention to areas that made Moira jump, like the backs of her knees. He lingered on her thighs, using his hands to trace designs on the sensitive skin.  
  
She was rapidly revising her definition of evil. To have him so close, without touching her where she burned for him was driving her insane. Moira shifted slightly, trying to tell him without words what she needed. He acquiesced to her demand, one finger brushing with teasing lightness over her labia. Moira gave a soft cry of pleasure and encouragement, hips pushing back in an attempt to increase contact.  
  
"This is evil." Ian withdrew the questing finger, and grasped her hips to keep her from moving. He replaced his hand with his lips; placing butterfly kisses across her pubic mound. He delicately lapped at her entrance, intending to continue his teasing, but the scent and flavor brought his primal instincts roaring back to dominate his actions.  
  
. His hands never leaving her hips as, with one swift motion, Ian was back on his feet. He pressed into her from behind, lost in the feel of her slick flesh closing around him. He thrust into her hard and fast, her cries spurring him to greater effort. Ian came in a blinding rush, shaking with the force of his orgasm.  
  
As the spasms left him and the veil of hunger parted, he buried his face in the curve of Moira's shoulder. He hoped she had come with him, but he couldn't tell. In the heat of the moment, he had neither known nor cared, and holding back had never even entered his mind. With the beginnings of guilt he asked hesitantly, "Moira, are you.alright?"  
  
"I feel wonderful." She purred. The afterglow left Moira completely relaxed. If she weren't pinned between Ian and the wall, she would have been just another puddle on the porcelain. In the back of her brain alarm bells were shrilling, but she just couldn't muster the energy to pay them any attention.  
  
Ian turned her in his arms, wanting her facing him again. He needed to see her face. Moira gazed up at him, enjoying the way the water beads slowly moved over the strong planes of his face and spiked his eyelashes. She was perfectly content to stay here until she wrinkled up like an old prune.  
  
He reached down to turn off the faucet. Someone might wonder why the water was running so long if he didn't. Besides, the shower wasn't going to muffle anything that went on in another room. Not that Ian particularly cared if anyone heard them mating. He grinned wolfishly as he realized their efforts at going unnoticed had, in all probability, failed. When they were together, it was difficult to remember to be silent. Damn near impossible, in fact. Ian knew he should be more concerned, but he couldn't find it in him to regret hearing the sound of his name uttered by his beloved in passion.  
  
Moira found herself scooped up and carried like a bride over the threshold. No one had ever carried her like this, not even as a child. Dad had always hoisted her and Maria onto his shoulders when they grew to tired to walk. She snuggled into his chest and enjoyed the sensation of strong arms around her.  
  
Effortlessly Ian made his way back into the bedroom with his precious cargo. He caught a glimpse in the dresser's mirror of the two of them. It was a picture worth a second look. He paused in front of the glass, admiring the way they fit together like two halves of a whole.  
  
Her long hair was clinging wetly to him, covering his side in a cascade of black. Although the light wasn't good enough for him to see the water from the ends trickling across his hip and down his thigh, he could feel it like questing fingers. Ian hoped to have her touch him there, among other places, again soon. He would have to work on his control so he could return the favor, he knew, but doubted Moira would mind him practicing.  
  
Once they reached the bed, Ian laid her out on the comforter. Moira looked up at him with slumberous eyes, and reached up one hand to beckon him onto the mattress. He didn't need to be asked twice. He settled himself beside her, and she half-rolled to drape herself across his chest. Both enjoyed the texture of skin against skin as they shifted, fitting themselves as close together as they could.  
  
"We're soaking the bedspread." Moira murmured as she ran one hand down his chest.  
  
"I'm beginning to suspect that you have a secret shower fetish." Ian agreed, a tiny smile curving his lips.  
  
"If I didn't have one before, I'm well on my way to acquiring one. Although I don't think it would be much of a secret to you." Moira chuckled, a blush heating her cheeks. 


	37. Chapter 37

BDP37  
  
The intertwined couple soon drifted off into sleep. The long nights apart, the stress, and the recent bout of lovemaking had combined to defeat their best efforts to stay awake. While they dozed, the moon slowly yielded her mastery over the heavens.  
  
The alarm shrilled, pulling me partially awake. Reluctant to give up my very pleasant dream, I flailed my arm in the direction of the offending sound. I intended to hit the snooze button so I could steal a little more time to sleep, but instead my palm connected with bare flesh.  
  
"Mmmph," came the disgruntled response from the owner of the well- muscled torso I had just smacked.  
  
I leaned up on one elbow, hair falling around me in a tangled mass. I blinked stupidly at the man taking up more than his share of the bed, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. I am hardly at my best before coffee, so it took me a minute.  
  
The uncommunicative lump with his head buried under my spare pillow was Ian. I leaned across him and slapped the alarm, knowing it would give me ten more minutes to snuggle with him.  
  
The first rays of dawn were gilding Ian's chest as I settled back against his side. I draped a proprietary arm over him and closed my eyes.  
  
"Cunna ifrinn!" I swore as I bolted upright. My brain had finally started working, and it had remembered that Ian should not be here. I snatched the pillow off his head.  
  
"Moira," Ian made of my name a muffled protest as he curled in on himself.  
  
"Ian, wake up! You should have been back at the lab hours ago. Surely they've noticed your absence by now!" I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him onto his back, trying to get him awake.  
  
The night crew, Kane and Abbot, were lazy bastards. Unless a monitoring alarm was activated, they spent most of the night playing poker with the cleaning staff and junior lab techs. However, they were smart. They always started their rounds at least an hour before the morning crew came in to relieve them. That way they had current information on their logs, and they fudged the rest of the data based on that.  
  
I had heard about their habits from Matheson, who sometimes sat in on the game. He was very good, winning more often than not. He preferred fleecing officers, but he liked to play low stakes occasionally just for the fun of it. Normally I would have been verbally appalled at their unprofessional behavior, but at Matheson's request, I had kept my silence. Now I was glad that I had.  
  
I stared down at Ian, who still showed no signs of waking up. Not quite ready to go for the cold water, I tried shaking him, "Nottingham, get your ass up!"  
  
Instead of galvanizing Ian, he just pulled the covers over his head. "Mph sleepin', go 'way."  
  
"What is wrong with you?" I was beginning to get worried. This did not seem like typical behavior for him, Ian just didn't strike me as the deep sleeper type. When I found I couldn't pry the sheet from his fingers, I went in from the side and flipped the blue cotton upward.  
  
Ok, not the best idea I've had. Confronted with that entire beautiful sleep-tousled male, I forgot just what my problem with him being here had been. I don't know how many precious minutes I would have spent drinking in the view if the alarm hadn't gone off again, pulling my attention back to the matter at hand.  
  
Ian must get back to the lab; Kane and Abbot would begin their morning rounds soon, if they hadn't already. With a silent apology, I leant down and ran my nails over the soles of his feet, which I had discovered last night, were very ticklish.  
  
Ian jerked his feet away, and finally sat up. He smiled sleepily at me and pulled me into his arms for a long kiss. I felt a strong sense of regret at not being able to spend the day lazing in bed with him, but it wasn't like we had civilian jobs. Calling in sick wasn't really an option. "I hate to throw you out of my bed, but you are going to be missed soon."  
  
"What time is it?" Ian had started to wake up and realize the danger of our situation. He sprang out of bed, heading for the bathroom and his clothes.  
  
"Oh-five-hundred, and it's a good thing I go running every morning or it would be even later. Neither of us would have woken up on our own." I said to his back, watching him pull his pants on. Not as much fun as him taking them off, but enjoyable nonetheless.  
  
"I might yet be safe. The night crew doesn't do any more than glance into the room, and I stuffed my spare uniforms under the blankets to make it appear as though I were in my bed. It won't stand up to close inspection, but it's not likely to get one either. It will make it harder to slip unnoticed back into my room." Ian's voice was muffled during the last sentence, as he pulled his shirt over his head.  
  
"I can go in early and distract them. If I keep them away from the monitors they'll never see you switch places with your stand-in." I began pulling clothes on with equal haste. I could not stand to think of Ian getting into trouble, especially not if there was something I could do to help him.  
  
"No, I would rather you didn't. If I get caught I don't want there to be any uncharacteristic behavior on your part. It would stand out in the wrong mind, and then we'd both be in trouble. I think you should go jogging just like every other morning. Make sure that you're seen." Ian had one foot on the tub, busy lacing as he talked.  
  
He was probably right, although it went against the grain to leave him to take his chances alone. It seemed cowardly. I may be a lot of things, but no one has ever accused me of being chicken. "You know, my behavior these past few days could hardly be considered normal. I don't know that showing up to the lab early would be enough of a deviation to ring any of Casca's alarms."  
  
"You don't really believe that do you?" Ian looked at me with both eyebrows raised in disbelief.  
  
"No," I sighed heavily. Casca would notice that I came to the lab early. Even if Ian were not discovered AWOL the bastard would scrutinize the lab tapes, checking to see what had brought me in. I conceded his point with bad grace. Just because he was right didn't mean I had to like it.  
  
"Good. I would hate to think that you were underestimating Casca. He is a very dangerous and perceptive man." Ian came to me for a last kiss before leaving.  
  
His embrace was deeply possessive. Ian rolled me into his arms and moulded me tightly to his frame, his kiss feeling more like a brand than a demonstration of affection or love. From anyone else I would have been furiously angry at the macho display, and I would have blistered his ears for it. The fact that I just stood there mutely, watching him leave, told me how far I'd fallen.  
  
Suddenly the idea of going jogging held merit. I needed to get out and think somewhere neutral. My apartment held to many emotional triggers to let me work through this logically. I pulled on my dark blue sweats and running shoes. I did my stretches in the warmth of the apartment before heading out into the cold grey dawn. 


	38. Chapter 38

BDP 38  
  
Ian took a page from Moira's book and jogged back toward the Motor Pool. No one expected to see anything but a soldier out doing PT, especially at this hour. In fact, there were several others already running, so no one remarked on one more.  
  
He had to pass the Motor Pool because of one such early morning runner, but when he doubled back it was clear. Ian cut swiftly across the yard and into the bunker. He made his way down the stairs without incident, thankful that petty thieves were very like cockroaches. Neither one would risk moving during the light of day if they could possibly avoid it, so he need not fear being discovered here. Although it was unlikely they would wish to expose him, and so lose their secret exodus.  
  
The bottom stairwell door open slightly, as Ian checked to see if the dumpster room was clear. Once he satisfied himself that he was alone, Ian moved cautiously across the open space. Another door opened into the hallway, which was also abandoned. He crossed it hurriedly.  
  
If he were caught now, Ian wanted it to be as far away from his secret route as possible. Granted, the air vents would still be accessible, but it was a more difficult route. If he were badly wounded, it would be almost impossible to use, and even healthy he would be hard pressed to get anything beside himself out.  
  
With that thought in mind, Ian made a detour at the next intersection. He wanted to come back into the camera's view from a totally different direction, even if it added time to his route. He made his way unchallenged back to the common area, but could not shake the feeling that he was being watched.  
  
The door to the berths was just ahead. Ian should be hearing muffled conversation from the early risers, or at least the sound of the showers running, but everything was quiet. A strong sense of foreboding filled him as he reached for the handle. Whole body tense and alert, Ian pushed open the door.  
  
Everyone was still asleep. Niccoli and Beck were snoring, like they always did when they were exhausted. It was a perfectly normal tableau, unless you counted the time. Ian reached out and touched Mobius. When he failed to respond, Ian shook him. Moby continued to slumber, reminding Ian uncomfortably of his own inability to rouse earlier.  
  
A sudden suspicion made him yank the covers away and examine his unconscious brother. There were needle marks on the inside of Mobius' left arm and the lingering red marks of electrode patches on his chest and shaven head. Ian moved to the next bed, checking Taurins. He bore the same marks, as did Beck, Rook, and Niccoli. Ian was reaching for Lee's arm when the door opened behind him.  
  
"So good of you to join us, Nottingham. I have been waiting ever so patiently for your return."  
  
Ian spun, dropping into a defensive crouch. His hands itched for a weapon as he stared at a smugly smiling Casca, flanked by M.P.s. Knowing he could do nothing at the moment, he straightened and replied, "I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk."  
  
"I find it very interesting that you were so wakeful, when the rest of your unit has yet to stir." Casca gave Ian a disbelieving look.  
  
"You drugged our meal last night, did you think I wouldn't notice? As soon as the lights went out I purged my stomach, and you know how rapidly I metabolize." Ian raised a brow, reminding Casca that he had been experimented on before this, with results that had pleased him at the time.  
  
He owed Moira a great deal for pushing him out of his drugged stupor; otherwise he'd still be unconscious. The thought of how near a miss they had had would have made a weaker man pale, but Ian kept his face completely neutral as he waited for a response. He could only hope that his lie would go unchallenged, as he was sure the drug was still in his bloodstream if anyone thought to check.  
  
"I do not know whether to be pleased with your conditioning or angered at the inconvenience of the absence of our best subject for comparison. I believe your earlier exposure to several of the chemicals has enhanced your body's response to the serum. I would like to have more complete data to work with, just to be sure. It may be exactly what I have said from the beginning, we need to start the injections before puberty for maximum efficiency. The drug therapy simply has not been as effective with the other subjects." Casca knew Irons' reaction would be very much like his own. They had needed the data to prove their theory, but Ian's avoidance of their attempt to gain the information was an admirable display of his training.  
  
It also meant that Ian had not received the additional injections and therapy session the others had. That could be a problem, as Irons had changed his mind mid-stream and decided that he wanted Ian bred like the others. Part of the night's injections had been engineered for a timed release that would stimulate the male nervous system and increase sperm count. Irons wanted the women impregnated immediately, and he had even lined up the next batch of broodmares in anticipation of success.  
  
"All this just to gather data that you could just as easily accumulate during a normal workday?" Ian gently shook his head, letting Casca know he was not fooled.  
  
"Don't get too smart Nottingham, it isn't appreciated." Casca gave Ian a supercilious look and turned. He left, taking the silent M.P.s with him.  
  
"Too late." Moby muttered as the door closed. He opened one eye and looked up at Ian with a small smile. It was clear that he had been awake for the last few minutes, at least. "So, what did I miss?"  
  
"How much did you hear?" Ian asked, wondering where to begin.  
  
"Enough to know that you skipped out on the night's activities, and that you've been through this, or something like it, when you were younger." He was so tired, his body just wanted to go back to sleep. Moby sat up slowly, struggling against the grip of the drugs. He knew that getting upright would help fight off the drowsiness.  
  
"I have been part of experiments for most of my life. Last night, something seemed off. I don't know how to explain it. I just had to get out. I wandered the compound for hours. I did nap eventually under a table. I had just come back in and found I couldn't wake you when Casca arrived. I don't know what was done to you, but I doubt it was a simple testing." Ian hated to lie to Moby, but he could hardly tell him the truth in here. The bay was bugged.  
  
Ian comforted himself with the thought that he could come clean later. This afternoon on the obstacle course he would have the opportunity to tell Mobius everything, including what Moira had said about Casca's plans for children. He hoped there would be time to tell everyone, as the much- anticipated prostitutes were to arrive tonight. 


	39. Chapter 39

BDP39  
  
The jogging trail wound up and down several hills. Just a few months ago all the trees that bordered the path were brilliant with their autumn leaves, but those had fallen to lie brown and dry. An occasional skirl of wind would pick several up and blow them across the track. The air was crisp with the warning of snow. My breathing plumed white in the cold, matching the fog that still clung to the low areas of the wood.  
  
It really was ideal weather for running to me. My stride lengthened as I settled into a ground-eating lope. The miles fell away as my mind was freed to think. Away from the distractions and demands of both work and Ian, I began to play with the new pieces of information I had acquired.  
  
Casca was a total bastard, but a very intelligent one. He had a plan, a plan I was beginning to see the shape of. It was audacious, but workable. If you didn't care what happened to the inevitable failures along the way. They would not be able to function in normal society. So many things could send them into murderous rages, like the one Nottingham had experienced. Several of the chimps had exhibited the same behavior, and worse, before the end. Magnify that by the increase in mass and intelligence for humans, and you had wholesale slaughter waiting to happen.  
  
Containment would be prohibitively expensive as well as damn near impossible. They were too fast, too strong, and too cunning for anything less than a specially designed prison. Given enough time, they would figure a way out of their confinement. The failed experiments would probably have to be destroyed.  
  
We had done the same with the chimps; every last one of them had been etherized and dissected. Even the ones who had been successful had been put down, so we could see why. But those were chimps, not human beings. I had not liked it, but it had been necessary.  
  
It was hard to accept, but the only real difference between Casca and myself was where we drew the line. I couldn't think of children as lab mice, although it was pretty clear that Casca and Ian's father could.  
  
Ian had been strangely silent about his mother, if he had even had one. Surely she would not have been part of it? One lip curled up as I remembered that there were ten women ready to give up their offspring for no better reason than profit. Ten more lives that would be treated with cold scientific interest instead of love. It was a wonder Ian had turned out as well as he had. Cian only knew what had been done to him, as his scars showed only the physical damage. There was no telling what mental anguish he had suffered.  
  
The thought was an ugly one, bringing visions of an innocent child in torment. The child had dark hair and soulful brown eyes, brimming over with pain. The very idea broke my heart. Poor Ian. No one had been there for the child he had been, especially not his parents. The very ones he should have been able to turn to for support had deliberately placed him in harm's way. It was betrayal of the worst kind.  
  
I put on a burst of speed, giving the fury a much needed outlet. It had been seething beneath the surface ever since Ian's confession in the bedroom. I wanted to show that bastard who called himself Ian's father just what science was capable of inflicting on a human being. I had cultures of flesh-eating bacteria that would take a very long time to kill an adult. I smiled at the image of his father trying to breathe through a face that was nothing more than a red ruin.  
  
I would have loved to visit upon him the same torment he had lain upon an innocent child, but I knew there was no way to get to him and keep him that long. Hell, someone would probably save him, leaving the monster free to do further damage. No, a sniper from on high stood the best chance of taking the bastard out. I would celebrate the fact that he could never harm another child, and leave the vengeance to Arawn. I had faith in the gods to make the punishment fit the crime.  
  
Maybe it was time to spend some of my retirement money. I would get the 'family discount' after all. It would be a while before I could get word to one of the cousins, as we were confined to base until the experiment was concluded.  
  
In the meantime I would just have to content myself with doing my best to sabotage Casca's breeding program. After I showered I'd have to stop by the infirmary and get a case or two of condoms. It was in the regulations, so there was nothing that could be done to stop me from handing them out. I'd also have to get the abortive concocted.  
  
I had called it a contraceptive when talking to Ian, but in truth it would cause them to menstruate within the next few days. The combination of hormones would tell the female's body that her cycle had ended. The women would slough off their uterine linings, averting any chance of conception. It was more efficient than any oral contraceptive that I could whip up, having a one hundred percent success rate.  
  
My mind was still moving at full speed when the circular trail dumped back out at the beginning. Sometimes I'd do a second loop, it was only four miles, especially if I was still thinking hard about something. This morning I didn't have time to go around again, not with everything I needed to get done.  
  
Regretfully, I left the packed dirt trail for the asphalt road back to my apartment. I slowed to a walk, using the final distance for my cool down. The stairs going up to my quarters were great for stretching the calves and thighs one last time. I was stiffer than usual and in some strange places, probably because of last night. I nodded good morning to the other tenants as they left to do their P.T. or begin their shifts. I tried to make it seem like every other morning, as if my world wasn't brimming over with chaos and conspiracies.  
  
Sufficiently cooled down and stretched, I unlocked my door and watched for the small hair to fall. If someone had been in my apartment after I left, they would never notice the black strand dropping. The hair drifted lazily toward the floor and I entered, heading straight for the shower. I stripped on the way, leaving a trail of clothes from the door to the bedroom. By the time I hit the bathroom I was naked.  
  
My reflection stared back at me from the mirror. I froze in shock. There was a bruise, although calling it a bruise was something of an understatement, on the side of my neck. Hell, taking up most of the side of the neck. I hadn't seen that kind of hickey since Jessica Plexer showed up with one in the eighth grade. We'd teased her that her boyfriend was a vampire.  
  
It wasn't funny now. I reached up to touch the mark. A matching stain spread over my wrists. I remembered him pinning me to the shower wall, but it hadn't hurt at the time. I flexed my hands in surprise, feeling a slight soreness but nothing too severe. I guess being so pale just made the damage appear worse than it really was. I looked down, since the mirror cut off at mid-chest, checking for more marks.  
  
My hips and inner thighs had light bruising. I had expected that, given the events of last night. Fortunately there were no more surprises. The wrists and throat were more than enough to remind me that last night, while very exciting, had been far from normal. I had shied away from thinking about Ian's behavior last night, and Casca's plans had made the perfect distraction.  
  
I didn't have any excuses left. I was going to have to face the fact that Ian had changed a great deal since the last time we had been together. He was now intensely aggressive, territorial, and possessive. On a primal level it was very appealing. On a rational level it was disturbing.  
  
I did my best to shut down the personal feelings and think only about what it meant the drugs were doing to Ian. It also made me worry about the other Dragons. How would they respond tonight? 


	40. Chapter 40

BDP40  
  
Ian had not been able to shake the feeling that Casca had been doing more to the rest of the unit than he was letting on. He had replayed their earlier conversation in his mind several times over the course of the day; concerned with the way his fellow Dragons had been treated during the night. He also had to wonder why the drugs had taken so long to affect him, since it was clear that the others had been unconscious for several hours, even through several tests.  
  
Certainly Ian had always metabolized things quickly, and he healed at a rate that most considered miraculous. Although he could not recall recovering so rapidly from a dosage designed with his metabolic rate in mind, it had obviously happened this time. Perhaps Ian had finally found something positive about the treatments they'd been given, but he was going to keep this discovery to himself. That was the kind of edge you didn't get handed every day.  
  
He had managed to tell the other Dragons about Moira's suspicions about the prostitutes during their time on the obstacle course, and her plans to circumvent it. Everyone had responded as he had hoped. No one wanted to father a child in that kind of situation. They were more than willing to make sure the women ingested the contraceptive.  
  
Mobius had signaled Ian to run ahead with him, and in the relative privacy the distance gave them, asked Nottingham how he had come by his information. Ian had lied, telling Moby that Moira had met him inside the compound.  
  
The falsehoods had tasted like ash in his mouth, but he led Mobius to believe that he and Dr. Burke had gone no further in their relationship than stolen embraces. He had even intimated that he was a virgin, and was not sure how to proceed with Moira.  
  
Tonight, when the prostitutes arrived and Ian refused their advances, he had asked Mobius to tell the others not to tease him. Nottingham told Moby he was waiting for the right woman, sex was not a casual thing to him. The others would think that he was a lovesick fool, and perhaps he was. He had never felt like this before, and so had nothing to gauge it by, but he truly believed himself in love. Whether or not that made him a fool remained to be seen.  
  
Moby however, had looked at him for a long moment as they climbed a wooden barricade, "You walk a difficult road my brother, but the love of a good woman is worth all the trials you will face. I am sorry that I did not wait to share the experience with the woman who will complete me."  
  
That bit of conversation stayed with Ian all afternoon. It was exactly how he felt when he was with Moira. She made him complete.  
  
"What are you thinking about so hard?" Placing one hand on Ian's shoulder, Mobius interrupted Nottingham's reverie.  
  
"The love of a good woman." Ian replied softly, palming one of the capsules Moira had given him, he passed it to Moby under the guise of touching the hand resting on his shoulder.  
  
"It is a wondrous thing." Mobius agreed, taking the ampoule and pocketing it.  
  
"Indeed. Have a good time tonight." Ian replied, feeling a sense of relief. That had been the last of the contraceptives. Now that everyone had been given one without getting caught, he intended to turn in. No point hanging out, Casca knew he was forbidden women so there would not be one for him anyway.  
  
Ian had waited to late though; the prostitutes were entering the common area even as he stood up to leave. Resigning himself to some friendly teasing from the rest of the unit, Nottingham started walking toward the door to the barracks. He watched the hookers as he moved, curious to see what they would look like.  
  
The first two that entered the room were certainly dressed the part. Or would that be undressed? Tight skirts ended just below their hips and their tops bore striking resemblances to string bikinis. Ian wondered if they had arrived in something more suited to the weather and then changed. It had been snowing by the time they left the obstacle course this afternoon. He couldn't imagine that the weather had improved since then. The next four in were dressed in some variation of the same theme.  
  
Nottingham reached the door but did not go through. His attention had been caught by the change in the atmosphere. It was suddenly charged with tension. His brothers were watching the women like starving wolves eyeing a wounded doe. Their bodies began to shift subtly, moving in display as well as trying to cut off rivals. The sight held Ian riveted. Surely they weren't going to fight over the women?  
  
Ian remembered the rage he had felt when Beck had touched Moira, and thought that they might. He stepped away from the door, body tensing to intervene if necessary. There would be no one else to mediate, as there had been for him. They were all caught up in the hunger, even Mobius. 


	41. Chapter 41

BDP 41  
  
I had watched the women enter the building. Several of them looked around, touching some of the more specialized and expensive equipment. By the appreciative noises they made, I was pretty sure they knew what they were for. That, in and of itself, would have made me suspect they were not the prostitutes they were pretending to be. What would a hooker know about DNA, beyond the flavor?  
  
Ok, that was an unworthy thought. It was still funny, but definitely catty. I was usually not so bitchy, but I couldn't seem to help it. The very idea of what they were trying to do rubbed me the wrong way.  
  
I was bent over a microscope, pretending to ignore them when Casca came in. I felt his eyes on my back and it was all I could do not to tighten my shoulders defensively. I was glad for the snow that began to fall while I was getting ready for work. It had given me the perfect excuse to wear the dark blue turtleneck underneath my uniform. It covered all but the very edge of the bruising on my throat. A lot of make-up had dulled that down to the point that unless you were really looking, it was invisible.  
  
Hopefully it would be enough to hide the mark from Casca. The last thing I needed was for him to find out about Ian and I. If he did, I suspected that I would find my job title changed to lab rat. Sometimes it was a real pain in the ass being so pale skinned.  
  
His gaze lingered on my back, which was not promising, but all he said was, "Burke, what are you still doing here?"  
  
I turned and smiled at him with malicious glee as I picked up the two boxes of prophylactics and shook them. Over the sound of rattling condoms, I replied, "Why, waiting for you of course. According to health code, prophylactics must be made available to all military personnel taking liberty. I wanted to make sure that the regulations were observed."  
  
"How very.proper, of you." Casca gritted out.  
  
I could see a vein beginning to pulse in his forehead, and fancied I could hear his teeth grinding. I couldn't resist adding, "We wouldn't want our boys to pick up anything, now would we?"  
  
The women bristled at my tone as much as my words. I had been deliberately insulting. Perhaps they had been fooling themselves that it was in the name of science, or for the greater good, but having sex with someone in exchange for goods or currency is still whoring. I made sure my voice had conveyed my negative opinion of the prostitutes, since I could not scream at them for their willingness to sell their children into slavery and death.  
  
As satisfying as it would be, it would also tip my hand. Casca would doubtless examine everything with a fine-toothed comb, discover my secondary measures, and circumvent them. That would bring us back to square one, and the very thing I was trying to prevent would occur. I held my silence, but let my eyes move over the women contemptuously. They were lower than dirt, unworthy and unclean.  
  
"They have all been given a clean bill of health and are providing a necessary service." Casca replied, moving between the women and me as if he would shield them from my scorn. Wouldn't want the little darlings to have an attack of conscience now would we?  
  
"As you say." I shrugged dismissively.  
  
"I do say." Casca snarled, hands flexing at his sides.  
  
I think he was imagining strangling me. That just made me smile all the bigger. I watched him, practically daring him to try it. After a minute of our little stare-down, the prostitutes began to stir restlessly. It broke his concentration, and he looked over his shoulder at them. They quieted immediately, so I can only assume it was one of his patented dirty looks.  
  
Whatever it had been, the moment was broken. Casca moved to the doors that opened into the common area for the Dragons. He held the door open for them, a display of manners I had never seen him use. "After you, ladies."  
  
I think he was trying to reassure the women, although I couldn't resist raising an ironic brow over Casca's word choice. It certainly helped them though; they went through the door with their heads up. I rolled my eyes as the 'ladies' strolled out of view.  
  
I wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea of walking in with them, so I waited until the last one had gone before moving from my desk. Casca pointedly let go of the door as he followed them in. It didn't bother me, I wanted there to be a break between us. I paused, letting the door completely close before transferring the boxes to one hand so I could turn the handle.  
  
The tension in the room that I entered could be cut with a knife. It took me a few seconds to realize what I was seeing. The men were about to compete for the females. Shit shit shit. I looked around the room for help, and saw Ian paused by the door to the bunks. He, at least, was not caught up in the hormonal rush. We exchanged glances filled with concern and uncertainty. One wrong move could set them off like a match to powder. 


	42. Chapter 42

BDP42  
  
"Please join your partners," The tense silence was broken by Casca, of all people.  
  
Ian and I exchanged looks of surprise and confusion. We both would have expected Casca to have kept silent and watch the chaos unfold. It was completely out of character, and we were not the only ones to think so.  
  
All the Dragons turned to watch Casca, momentarily distracted by the uncharacteristic behavior. He must really want those children, was all I could think, to have willingly passed up a chance to see if the Dragons would fight for the right to mate with the females.  
  
There was a good chance they would have, sexual behavior being largely controlled by the affected basal brain. It would have been a brutal fight, if Ian's behavior last week were any kind of yardstick. Hell, his behavior last night had been over the top, and there had not been any other males around. I almost felt sorry for the women who were about to go off alone with their chosen partners. They probably wouldn't be able to walk right for a week.  
  
With that in mind, I opened the two boxes of condom and set them on the small table that they had been playing cards on. "All right men, take as many as you want, better to have extras than to try the old turning it inside out routine, which doesn't work anyway."  
  
Beck picked up the first box and said, "Do you think one box is enough, or should I take two?"  
  
I rolled my eyes, "Beck, if you manage to get it up," I checked the container for numerical content, "thirty five times in one night, there won't be any skin left on it."  
  
"What do you think happened to my foreskin? I wasn't circumcised at birth, you know." Beck laughed, but he took a handful of prophylactics out of the box and passed it on.  
  
The men bantered good-naturedly, the earlier tension diverted into less hazardous channels. Most of the women moved further into the room, but you could feel their hesitation. I think they were wondering what they had gotten themselves into. Surely they were concerned about that violent potential in bed?  
  
I touched the ring of bruises on my right wrist, knowing they had cause for concern. If Ian had come to my bed without the groundwork of our relationship tempering his actions, how would the night have gone? Part of me felt guilty for letting them walk blindly into the situation, but there was no real way to warn them without exposing our relationship.  
  
I watched as the leggy black woman sidled up to Mobius. She was the first one to initiate contact, which I had half-expected to happen. She was built like a panther, sleek muscled and confident. I knew she was tall, but standing next to Moby she seemed smaller. I always forget just how big Mobius really is until something like that happens.  
  
Moby smiled down at her, obviously well pleased by what he saw. She wrapped her arm around his waist and he let her. Seeing nothing bad happen, most of the others gathered their courage and moved toward the men.  
  
I wanted to go to Ian's side as the women paired off with their preselected males. It was a purely territorial urge, as I had seen several pairs of female eyes linger on him. I shook my head slightly, a wry grin tugging at my lips as I wondered if testosterone was contagious. Next thing you knew, I'd be thumping my chest and grunting. I lifted a brow at Ian, who quirked one in response. From the small smile playing around his lips, I knew he had followed my line of thinking.  
  
A glimpse of motion out of the corner of my eye made me turn, breaking eye contact with Ian. Casca had grabbed one of the women and was bringing her forward, because she was not moving on her own. She was a dainty brunette with jade green eyes. He had taken her by the arm and was leading her forward like a reluctant child. She was one of the women who had been admiring the lab equipment, and I think she finally had a clue as to what she had signed up for. Her face was set in mutinous lines and she had all but dug her heels in.  
  
I felt another surge of guilt, but she had made her choice. I told myself to stay out of it, that there was a reason for the phrase, 'you made your bed, now lie in it.' Even trying to strangle the impulse, I found myself moving forward. If you're not willing, it's rape. I was not going to stand for that. 


	43. Chapter 43

BDP43  
  
Ian followed Moira's gaze to the side. Casca had grabbed, none to gently, the last of the women in the group. She was frightened of the large man, but she still struggled against his hold. Spirited as well as beautiful, Nottingham thought. She was like a kitten spitting at a bulldog, and having about as much effect. He was moving forward before he realized it, some instinct prompting him to protect the overmatched young woman.  
  
He froze as Moira moved between Casca and the rest of the room. Her back was to him now, but Ian could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was not going to let Casca by her. Even though he had been moving to do the same thing, his first thought was 'I can't believe she's going to fight him over a stranger.' Especially considering the way Moira felt about anyone who would sell not only themselves but also their unborn children.  
  
"Moira," He opened his mouth to tell her not to do it, to remind her that the girl was not worth it, and closed it with a snap. All the other members of his unit were already paired off. That made the brunette the eleventh woman. Ian had made it very clear that he had no intention of fornicating with one of the prostitutes. Had Casca brought her anyway, thinking to test his resolve?  
  
It might have even worked, if Ian had not been with Moira. Watching the others touch their women, to breathe air scented with musk.oh yes, the fine-boned beauty that was still trying to pull free of Casca could have tempted him. There was something about her that tugged at him. Not like the way he felt about Moira, but his body had definitely taken an interest.  
  
Instantly he felt ashamed. How could he feel desire for another woman? Ian closed his eyes for a long moment, fighting to understand where this impulse had come from. It felt horribly alien. There was no tenderness or affection accompanying the feeling, just raw lust. It reminded him of the way he felt when he went after Beck, like he was overcome by sensation, unable to temper his actions with rational thought.  
  
Was this part of the primitive behavior that the Dragons had been warned they would begin experiencing? Ian concentrated on Moira's back, changing the focus of the unwanted desire pulsing through his frame. He looked at her throat, remembered biting it as he held her to the shower wall, thrusting into her slick flesh. He could see, very faintly, the edge of a bruise peeking over the high collar of the turtleneck she had worn under her lab coat.  
  
What would Moira do if she knew about the way he felt? Would she reject him? He knew how he felt about the idea of Moira having lustful thoughts about another man. Just the concept alone made him furious and sick. How much worse would she feel if she knew that he had thought about sex with another woman?  
  
Ian was torn between telling her, in case it was a sign of abnormal cranial activity, and keeping his silence, in case it wasn't. He knew that Irons had arrangements with several different women, some at the same time. The idea had always appalled Ian, although he was careful to keep those feelings from showing in his face and tone. It was not his place to criticize his father.  
  
"I don't care what kind of paperwork she signed, or what her job description is. No means no. It's a very simple word, two letters, sounds like, NO!" Moira had moved into Casca's personal space, firing off her retort practically in his face.  
  
"Halt's maul! Listen you obstinate, puritanical, strega, it is none of your business. Your job is to work on the project, not make moral decisions for das sind Meerschweine." Casca's English wasn't the only thing slipping. His face was red, and a muscle was ticking under his right eye. The man was only moments away from going ballistic.  
  
How had it gotten so far so fast? Ian realized that he must have missed several minutes of the conversation while fighting with himself. Determined not to get distracted again, he moved forward to try and defuse the situation, and to protect Moira if that failed. The argument they were having was pointless anyway.  
  
Surely Casca could be made to see that he had no intention of having sex with the other woman. Even if Ian did not have the prior stricture against sex; he had told Casca he did not want a prostitute. A great many years had gone into forging his will until it ruled the body, the body did not rule him. 


	44. Chapter 44: Questions

BDP44: Questions  
  
"This argument is completely pointless. She could fall at my feet protesting undying adoration, and it wouldn't matter, because I am not having anything to do with her." Ian moved up to Moira's shoulder. He was not going to let this argument continue. All it was doing was creating more friction between his lady and Casca.  
  
Both stiffened at his intrusion. Casca shifted his glare to Nottingham. What little diplomacy and tact he possessed had clearly been burned away in the heat of his argument with Moira as he barked, "Det var som fanden! *You will do what Irons has commanded you to do*."  
  
Ian froze, looking at Casca in shock. All of his life he had been told how important it was that he keep himself pure. The abrupt about-face left him reeling, his brain momentarily unable to process the idea. Why would Irons change his mind after so many years?  
  
Unless. he had decided that the offspring of such a union would be beneficial to him. Was he looking toward the next generation? After all, Irons did not age. He remained as vital now as he had when Ian was a small child, thanks to his connection with the Witchblade. There was no way to know how old Kenneth really was, but it was foolish to believe that he would not continue just as he was.  
  
Whatever gift of longevity Irons possessed, it did not extend to his servants. Dr. Immo looked every day of his age, and Casca was clearly on the downhill slide. Ian knew it was a matter of years before he was in the same position. From Kenneth's point of view, perhaps it was time to start considering a new trainee? It was so much the better if the child had a good pedigree and a father who could train him in his image.  
  
Oh yes, he could see the benefits for Irons from such a plan. The question remaining was, why had he not been prepared for this from the beginning? Why pound the need to remain separate from the female sex in his head if Irons wanted another little Nottingham around the mansion?  
  
What if Casca was acting on his own initiative? It was possible that he was willing to risk Irons wrath if found out, or he believed that the results would exonerate him. There was always the more unpleasant option, Casca would arrange for Ian to suffer a 'training accident' once conception had been confirmed. That way Kenneth would never know.  
  
Of course, this could be another test. Irons loved to push the boundaries of Nottingham's training in ways worthy of Machiavelli. No matter what Ian chose, Kenneth would benefit, it was just a matter of how much. There was always one choice that Irons wanted him to make above all others, and failing to pick it always let to punishment.  
  
Any and all of these scenarios was possible, but which one or ones? In some ways it would be easier if Irons were present. It would eliminate one potential, and give him a better idea of what he was supposed to do. Ian would never tell a soul, but he had learned to read Kenneth very well over the years. The subtlest inflection, the smallest tilt of head or hand could tell him volumes.  
  
Lacking those clues, Nottingham felt almost dizzy from juggling all the possibilities. He had to admit that his concern over Moira's reaction was coloring his perceptions too. What should he do? He struggled to make the best decision he could, given the information he had.  
  
Moira gave Ian a sidelong glance through her lashes, as he continued to stand silent. German wasn't a language she spoke, but the tone had been enough to raise her hackles. She really wanted to know what had been said. Whatever Casca's command had been, it had caught Ian amidships. His face was like stone, but his eyes reflected the internal struggle he was engaged in.  
  
Of course, she was still reeling from Ian's preceding statement herself. Moira imagined she had something of the same look. She couldn't help realizing what she should have noticed from the beginning. After all, she'd had ample time to count them as they stood in the main body of the lab.  
  
If that hadn't been enough of a clue, the brunette was very striking. If she had been in the files, Moira was confident she would have remembered her face. That's what she got for letting her sense of moral outrage blind her to what was happening around her.  
  
Was this woman a late addition, or had she been part of the plan all along? Either way, why drag her out now, and why be so insistent that she comply with something they knew Ian had no intention of doing? It was enough to make Moira wonder just what they were slipping into the subliminal part of their training.  
  
They had to have picked the women out months ago, so how much harder would it have been to insert their images into the videos? As many frames per second as there were, it would have been very easy to do. Would that be enough to make Ian breed with this woman, willing or not? Moira didn't think so, at least not with the unintentional interfering she'd done. If they weren't together though, this could have turned out very differently.  
  
The more Moira looked at the woman, who was still trying futilely to free herself from Casca's grip, the more she began to wonder about her. Who was she? What had brought her here? Why had they matched her with Nottingham?  
  
She had courage, but she didn't have the training to back it up. Presumably she was smart, the other women had all possessed high I.Q. ratings. She'd really like to get her hands on a DNA sample, if she could get one without it being noticed. There had to be a very good reason why Casca was pulling out all the stops to get this pairing. Moira wondered where the brunette's file was, and what it would say if she could find it.  
  
Maybe Ian could do a little breaking and entering for her. After all, he had managed to get out of the building completely without getting caught. Getting into Casca's office should be child's play. It might also be the only way she was ever going to find out what Vorshlag Industries already knew about their 'experimental pharmaceuticals', and what the long term affects were going to be for the Dragons. There might even be a way to reverse or halt the changes in their brain chemistry.  
  
The best way to accomplish that was to somehow get Casca to leave the complex, preferably for a few days. Moira wasn't sure how she was going to accomplish that, but she'd watch for an opportunity. There was no chance of him leaving now, not with so much of his real plan hanging in the balance.  
  
Casca had no way of knowing that she had already taken steps to foil him, except for one. Moira had only made ten of her little cocktails, not eleven. There would be no failsafe if she couldn't get Ian out of this. Or if Ian chose to take the woman, an insecure part of her pointed out. She had not missed the way Nottingham had looked at the smaller woman.  
  
"Ian, what did he say to you?" Moira asked as the silence continued, hoping his response would quiet the sullen green voice that was whispering in her ear.  
  
"He ordered me to have sex with her." His voice told her nothing. Ian could have been discussing the weather.  
  
Moira bit back her instinctual reply, which would have gone something like, 'Over my dead body.' That kind of reaction would do them no good and a great deal of harm. Casca did not need to see the ravening jealousy the idea roused in her. As soon as she trusted herself to speak calmly, she said, "Oh really."  
  
The ice in Moira's voice penetrated Ian's confused thoughts. "Yes he did. I am not sure if I should obey such a command. It seems rather unorthodox."  
  
Moira smiled up at Casca and waved the proverbial red flag, "You overstep your authority. This is still a military operation. You cannot order anyone to do anything, civilian. You have no place in the chain of command."  
  
"Vas?!?!?! Unglablich! D.." Casca was reduced to spluttering, torn between amazement at her gall and the fury it produced. The anger won. He let go of the brunette and shifted into a combat stance, hands curling into fists.  
  
In response, Moira slid her left foot back, mirroring his movements except her hands stayed open. She was much fonder of nerve strikes than punches; they were more efficient. If Casca thought she would back down from a physical threat, he really had forgotten that he wasn't dealing with his normal scientist.  
  
She had gone through combat training, just like everyone else. Her gender and future assignments hadn't mattered squat to her Drill Sergeant. Which had been fine with Moira. She loved to run, had been a member of her school's cross-country team before joining the armed forces. She hadn't loved the unarmed combat training, but she had learned it and wished she'd known it back in school.  
  
High schools in New York had more than their share of gangs, and more than their share of violence. Going one on one with a guy who had her for weight and reach was hardly the most uneven fight Moira had been in. Besides, Casca was getting soft around the edges. She could wear him out and then come in and pound him. In fact, she was looking forward to it.  
  
Moira never even got the chance to swing. A dark blur passed between them, and Casca was down. Ian stood over the unconscious man, his eyes held a feral light that reminded Moira of the day he had gone after Beck.  
  
"Kid, go back out the door, slowly. The first office on the right should be unlocked. It's Matheson's. Shut yourself in there and don't come out for anyone but me. I'll get you off base as soon as I can." Moira said softly, never taking her eyes off Ian. She didn't know what he would do if given any more provocation  
  
"The name's Beth, Beth Bronte, not kid. Are you sure you can handle him by yourself?" Beth asked, not moving.  
  
She looked behind her, realizing that the other Dragons had paired off and retreated to the small series of rooms that had been converted for that purpose. They had completely missed the conflict, and Moira knew they were hardly likely to come back out at this point to help her if she needed it. It was a little daunting, but she was hardly going to say so. "I'll be fine, and it will be less distracting for me if I know you are somewhere safe."  
  
"I can take care of myself, and I don't like leaving you alone with him." Beth took a small step closer to Ian, instead of back toward the door.  
  
"I think it will be safer for you to go Ms. Bronte. This is hardly the first time I've seen him like this, I've been working with Nottingham for several months. I think we'll be ok." Moira replied, an edge creeping into her tone. If the Bronte girl didn't leave now, it wasn't going to be Ian she had to worry about.  
  
"It just seems wrong to abandon you after you stood up to Casca for me. No one's ever done that before." There were definite tones of hero worship in Beth's voice.  
  
Moira wondered how many times Casca had steamrollered Beth into something she had not wanted to do, and felt her jealousy recede under a sudden wave of pity. Poor kid. "Don't worry Beth, I really will be fine. I'm not just saying that. Go on; lock yourself in Matheson's office like I asked. Nottingham doesn't know you. He may react to you like a hostile. Me, he'll either obey or ignore, but he won't attack."  
  
"If you're sure." Beth started edging back toward the door.  
  
"I'm sure." Moira replied calmly, as much to Nottingham as Bronte. She waited until she heard the door close behind her before moving toward Ian. Part of her wondered where the M.P.s were. Surely whomever Casca had monitoring the area had watched him go down.  
  
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. She'd just have to hope they didn't burst in before she managed to calm Ian down. 


	45. Chapter 45: Debriefing?

BDP45  
  
Ian stood over Casca's prone form with a strong sense of satisfaction. He had vanquished the other male quite easily. He couldn't remember why he had ever been afraid of the grey-eyed German. The older man was past his prime, and slow with it. Ian didn't think that Casca had even seen the blow that had knocked him out.  
  
He was only vaguely aware of the brunette leaving the room; his total focus now belonged to Moira. She was moving toward him, her eyes holding his. The sapphire orbs were filled with a strange light, making Ian wonder if she was mad at him for not letting her be the one to hit Casca.  
  
Perhaps Ian should have let Moira do it, she'd certainly been angry enough. He hadn't considered that before he moved. Well, truthfully he hadn't been thinking much at all. All he'd known was that his mate was in danger, and he'd acted to negate the threat. No, he hadn't even been thinking that much. The first thing he knew, he was standing over Casca, waiting to see if he was going to get up.  
  
Sensei Myamoto, the crotchety old man he'd learned kempo from, had always spoken of achieving the state of 'No Mind', where the body acted without conscious direction. It was what made it possible to dodge the unseen and the unseeable. It was also called nerve launching by the Shotokan master he had studied with later, and he had likened it to the way the body will instantly jerk the hand back when it encounters something hot. Because the body does not wait the time it takes the brain to receive input and send out orders, it makes an adept faster than thought. .  
  
Ian had thought himself a good student, but he had never achieved the kind of reaction under their tutelage that he had demonstrated today. He found it very interesting, and could see where it would be useful in his line of work. Nottingham did wonder what its limits were. Was he faster than, say, a speeding bullet? He would have to find a way to begin testing this improved skill away from the prying eyes of the rest of the scientists. It was an ability he'd like to keep to himself until he had to use it.  
  
"While I appreciate the chivalric thought behind the action, we are now in a bit of a pickle. The personnel watching the monitors had to have seen you take Casca down." Moira said as she drew even with Ian.  
  
"Perhaps not. I have been in the control room during my nocturnal wanderings. The recorder is set for the standard three-second interval. It is possible that, if they were not watching the monitors, they will not know what happened. Nor will there be video of the event, for I doubt that it took longer than three seconds for me to strike." Ian said softly.  
  
"And now?" Moira asked as one eyebrow rose toward the cameras in question.  
  
"Given the maturity level of your average PFC, I would say they're too busy watching the other monitors right about now to notice." Nottingham grinned unrepentantly and leaned over to pick up Casca.  
  
"Too busy." Moira trailed off as she finally realized what he was implying. The small exam rooms that had been converted for tonight's activities also had surveillance cameras inside. No one was watching the common area with THAT going on.  
  
Burke moved aside as Nottingham lugged Casca to the couch. "With any luck, we can skate completely on this. When Casca wakes, we tell him that we suspect he suffered a mild cardiac infarction from elevated blood pressure."  
  
"It is possible. He was exhibiting all the signs. Hmmm." Moira gave a wicked little chuckle. "I think I should have him moved up to the base hospital for observation."  
  
Nottingham paused with Casca halfway lowered, "Did you want me to carry him further?"  
  
"If you don't mind. I really don't think Dr. Pym would thank me for bringing paramedics in here. Let's take him as far as the entrance to the complex and have Casca picked up there." Moira watched as Ian nodded his consent and slung Casca over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.  
  
Moira paused to call the paramedics while Ian waited for the elevator. She relayed a very edited version of events, careful to emphasize his color while adding a little fib, saying he had clutched his arm before collapsing. They came to exactly the conclusion Burke desired, and promised to meet her at the address she gave them. In fact, they were already coming in the doors as they were exiting the elevators.  
  
Casca was hustled out on a gurney, leaving Moira and Ian alone in the building atrium. Moira cocked her head to the side and said, "Let's follow them and see how Casca's doing."  
  
While Ian doubted they were going to do any such thing, at least not if he had anything to say about it, he just nodded in agreement. There was every probability that this area was also under surveillance. Nottingham maintained a suitably concerned expression as they followed the emergency service technicians out the door.  
  
Once they were in the lot, Moira started walking toward the hospital at a leisurely pace. A few blocks later, she shot around the corner, pulling Ian with her. The street was dimly lit, and she led him to a shadowed corner before speaking, "This is the perfect opportunity to raid Casca's office. I want the data he's concealing from us, and I want it now. Think you can handle it?"  
  
"I will do my best, but I suspect any data I find will be encrypted." Ian warned her.  
  
"Did I ever tell you I have a lot of cousins? Well I do. Don't worry, I've got it covered." Moira smiled up at him mischievously.  
  
Ian found the smile irresistible, and kissed her gently. The feel of her in his arms brought him to deepen the embrace. Moira moaned softly at the intensity of the kiss, her hands coming up to lock around his neck. They were panting and flushed when they came up for air.  
  
"Did you really want me to break into Casca's office right now?" Ian asked as he nibbled on Moira's ear.  
  
What he was doing was making little shivers run down her neck. "Unfortunately, yes. We'll never have a better or safer time. I can get that Bronte woman off the base while you're at it. Then you can meet me back at the apartment for," Moira couldn't stop the small giggle that escaped her, "de-briefing."  
  
"Hmm, I like the sound of that." Ian purred into her ear, even though he would have preferred the evening's events to occur in a different order.  
  
"You'd better get to it before I forget myself and debrief you right here." Moira gasped as Ian's velvet voice wrapped around her.  
  
"I, and my briefs, are at your command," Ian chuckled against her hair.  
  
"Oh really?" Moira was torn between laughter and smacking him. Even his laughter was sexy. It just wasn't fair. Everything about Ian turned her on.  
  
"Really. Can't you tell? I've been saluting since you walked in the room." Ian's voice was filled with innuendo.  
  
Moira, no stranger to penile references, got that one right away. This time she smacked him on the arm while laughing. "You're so bad."  
  
"Actually, I'm evil. Remember?" Ian looked down at her face, which was glowing with a combination of amusement and desire.  
  
"How could I possibly forget?" Moira gave up on being responsible and pulled him down for another kiss. This time she dominated the exchange, letting him know how much she desired him.  
  
For long moments they were melded together, casting one shadow in the dim light. Reluctantly Moira pulled back, aware that they were in a public place. To do more was to risk being caught. "Let's go. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can go back to my place."  
  
Ian knew Moira was right, however much he would rather that she wasn't. With a sigh of regret he stepped away from her. "As you wish."  
  
"What I wish is that we had a hotel room where I could be as noisy as I wanted. Preferably one with a hot tub and room service." Moira gave a little sigh of her own. It sounded like heaven.  
  
Ian gave her a considering look, it sounded like a wonderful idea to him. He would have to see what he could arrange. In the meantime, he had an office to burgle. 


	46. Chapter 46: Beth

BDP46  
  
I watched Ian go, wondering if I was losing my mind. A part of me wished I'd said to Hell with everything, taken him back to my apartment, and made such a racket my neighbors were pounding on the walls. Well, I hadn't. Once again I had chosen reason over pleasure. Not without a great deal of regret, but I had chosen it nonetheless.  
  
I just couldn't forget that there was more at stake than our relationship, however wonderful and fragile it was. I hoped that Casca had been complacent enough to leave his data somewhere easily accessed. After all, except for my name-calling, no one had balked him in the least. He had acted as though the facility was his, and we were all his employees.  
  
I was betting rather heavily on my read of him as being secure enough to keep his files here. Even if he wasn't, I had a better chance of getting the data anyway, considering the abruptness of his departure tonight. It was very likely that everything was still in his office. He'd been planning to add data this evening, he had to have been or he wouldn't have stayed tonight. If Cian were really smiling on me, Casca had already pulled up the files he'd planned to alter. I wasn't holding my breath, but it would be a nice stroke of luck if he had.  
  
It took very little time for me to reenter the lab, my feet bringing me to Matheson's office before I was ready. I moved away from the door and headed to my office. In case Ian didn't get everything, I was going to make sure I got that DNA sample. I wouldn't be at all surprised if something unusual turned up on her after doing some tests. There had to be a reason Casca had overplayed his hand trying to get these two together. I grabbed my kit bag, shoved the necessary items in it, and headed back to the office where the Bronte girl was cooling her heels.  
  
A sharp rap on the door was met with a muffled, "Who is it?"  
  
"It's Dr. Burke. Let me in please, Beth." I was glad to see that she hadn't just opened the door. It made me think a little better of her. Lots of intelligent women had no common sense. Myself included sometimes.  
  
There was the distinctive click of a lock turning, then the door opened to reveal Ms. Bronte. She had borrowed one of Matheson's sweaters that he kept in the office. He was always cold in the labs, no matter how many years he'd been working in them. He always had at least two on hooks behind his desk.  
  
Over the years I'd even gotten him a few cable-knit fishermen's sweaters for Christmas. Nothing is warmer than Irish wool. In fact, it never gets cold enough here for me to wear one of those sweaters indoors; I always end up sweating like mad. I can only comfortably wear them outside, if I don't add a coat to it.  
  
It used to amaze me that Matheson could wear it under his lab coat all day. Now I'm used to seeing him trundle around in a heavy Aryan sweater, and I tend not to notice that he's wearing them any more. I was not prepared to see one of my presents wrapped around Ms. Bronte. It disturbed me.  
  
I know it's silly, I know that Beaker would be the first one to offer someone one of his sweaters if they were cold, but for a moment I was offended. It felt like she was intruding, even though I knew that she had borrowed it because it was there and she was wearing less clothing than I would wear to the pool in the middle of July.  
  
On Beth's petite form, the cream-colored wool came down almost to her knees. She'd rolled the sleeves up to free her hands, but the shoulder seams were clearly halfway down her upper arms. It made her look like a little girl playing dress up, especially with the bare legs ending in high heels.  
  
Part of my anger came from the fact that she looked like an innocent waif, which she clearly wasn't. In fact, the only reason she was here was to bear a child that would be even more alone than she looked right now, assuming it lived so long.  
  
"Don't look at me like that. I didn't choose this." Beth crossed her arms in front of her. "Casca made me come tonight."  
  
"You're an adult, he can't MAKE you do anything." I replied, surprised into being honest. Besides, I really wanted to know what was going on, and so far this was my only source of information.  
  
"He can if you're not real." Beth said as she sank in on herself. The child image was back, stronger than ever. She looked about five years old.  
  
"I wasn't aware this was a philosophical debate. You're as real as I am. You are over the age of eighteen, right?" I raised a brow at her, which she nodded in confirmation that she was, "So legally Casca can't run your life."  
  
"But I'm not a person, not really. I'm an experiment, you see. I don't have any rights." Beth clearly believed the crap she was saying, her tone was very matter of fact, if sad.  
  
"What do you mean, you're not a person?" I was starting to get angry. Even if she was the product of genetic manipulation or a specialized breeding program, she still had rights as an individual.  
  
"They took a frozen egg from Elizabeth Bronte, she was an American spy during the second world war, fertilized it, and inserted it into a female surrogate. I'm not the only one, but the rest of them were boys. Dr. DeAngelo, the man who helped to create me, got in trouble. It was a big scandal at Vorshlag. He started using his own sperm instead of the samples provided. I heard about it from the lab techs, they gossip right in front of me like I'm a piece of furniture. They're still mad, 'cause they can't duplicate his results. What a pity, no more viable offspring." Beth shook her head and grinned, clearly not sorry at all.  
  
Neither was I. Although I had to wonder how many more children there were. Beth had said that the others were all boys though. I wondered about Ian for a moment. Was he one of the 'boys' from before Dr. DeAngelo began switching sperm? He could also have been after, that would explain why he'd been treated so poorly. No man likes to be a cuckold, even in a situation such as this. Also, "Why are you telling me this?"  
  
"So you won't hate me. Besides, it's hardly a secret. Everyone at Vorshlag knows what I am. Casca will be in here any minute to take me back. He'll probably punish me for disobeying again, but I just couldn't do it. It shouldn't be my problem that they can't use Elizabeth's ova to produce more like me. I don't see why I should have to play broodmare on top of lab rat. It was the last straw. I don't care what happens to me anymore, not really. But if I had a baby, they'd take her from me and do the same things to her. I just couldn't." Beth's voice had run the gamut, from defiant to frightened to angry, but with the last two sentences it broke.  
  
To my horror, she started to cry. I'm not good with weepy women. I usually have the urge to smack them and tell them to quit whining. Beth didn't whine though. In fact, she was oddly silent. No sobs, just crystal tears, with one following the next. There was something so hopeless about it, as if she were used to her suffering being ignored. She wasn't crying to get attention or sympathy, she was crying because she was that miserable.  
  
I did something I would never have believed I'd do. I wrapped my arms around Beth and made those stupid little soothing noises. I must not have been doing something right, because instead of calming down, she just cried harder. I held this sobbing girl in my arms and wondered how old she was. I also cursed Vorshlag. This was the second damaged child I'd met that had ties to that place. My original plan, which had been to send her back where she came from, didn't seem like such a good idea. I was going to have to do something else. But what?  
  
There was always cousin Finn. He lived not too far from here, and he was always picking up strays. What was one more, even if it was two-legged instead of four? He was much better with hurt things than I was, and Nottingham was about all I could handle in the way of emotional stress right now. "Beth, how would you like to go somewhere other than back to Vorshlag?"  
  
"I can't. I've run before, I just can't get very far before I'm out of money. I can't get a job because I don't have a birth certificate, which means no social security number. The only work I can get is illegal, and they've got connections enough to find me that way too. The punishments are pretty bad too, when they catch me." Beth sighed in defeat.  
  
I wondered how many times she'd tried to get away. The way she was talking, I suspected that there had been several attempts. What she'd said made sense. No one would hire you without some form of identification, and a social security number. Without friends in the appropriate places, Beth had been doomed from the beginning.  
  
"I can't promise anything, but I think I can help you. Come with me." I wasn't about to say anything else, just in case Casca had surveillance equipment in here as well. Better safe than court-martialed, after all.  
  
"Why would you help me again? No one does something for nothing." Beth looked at me suspiciously.  
  
"You're a smart girl. I bet if you think about it, you'll figure something out." I smiled at her. "Actually I'm doing it for several reasons, some of my motivation is from my principles as a responsible scientist, but the fact that it will give Casca fits plays a very large part, I must admit."  
  
"I saw the way you watch Nottingham. That's part of it too, isn't it?" Beth asked shrewdly.  
  
"Yeah, but that's my problem. Are you coming, or are you going tamely back into your cage?" I asked, really not wanting to bring Ian into this, as I held the door open.  
  
"No more cage. I'm with you. But won't Casca catch us? He won't be unconscious for long. When he wakes up he's going to be pissed." Beth hesitated by the exit.  
  
"He's at the hospital. Trust me, Casca isn't going anywhere soon. The nurses are used to ignoring men with more authority than him, and when they think he's recovered he'll still have forms to fill out in triplicate." I grinned at the image my thoughts generated.  
  
"Does that mean we have time to pick up my clothes from Casca's office? My legs are freezing." Beth shivered theatrically. "Besides, I should leave the sweater here. It's really nice. This Matheson person would be mad if it were to come up missing."  
  
"I've got a pair of sweat pants in my office that you can have, it's on the way out. Casca's office is further into the complex." I said a silent apology to Weis, who was never getting those sweats back. I'd had them in a duffel bag by my desk since Ian had worn them. I kept finding reasons not to give them back. I guess I should just buy him another pair.  
  
"What about the sweater?" Beth paused, reluctant to take it off.  
  
"Just wear it. I'll get it from you when we get where we're going. Come on, I've got to get you out of here and get back again before he returns, remember?" I shooed her down the hall.  
  
"Where are we going?" Beth asked as she walked beside me.  
  
"Let's not talk about it here. I don't trust the walls not to have ears." Fortunately, that was all I had to say. We made it to my office in record time, and complete silence.  
  
I watched her pull the sweat pants on as I pulled all the equipment back out of my kit bag. It seemed like a waste of effort to have packed it up in the first place, but if I hadn't, I'd have needed it. When she was dressed I called her over. "Beth, I want to take some blood and tissue samples. I need to know if they've been drugging you, and if so, what they've been using."  
  
"Sure, if you promise to tell me what you find. I know they give me regular injections. It would be nice to know what was going on with my own body." Beth held out an arm for the blood sample with the ease of long practice.  
  
Samples taken and stored, we left. I resisted the urge to wave to the cameras as we passed through the main body of the lab. I really should have asked Ian to try to confiscate the video recordings from tonight while he was out gathering information. Even at three-second intervals, there were still too much on those tapes that could be used against us.  
  
Well, no use crying over it now. I'd just have to hope for the best, plan for the worst. Besides, I doubted that Ian could get in to the control room and make off with the tapes tonight. Every last one of the guards would be glued to those monitors tonight, and they were probably playing back some of the footage.  
  
I winced at the thought, but I knew it was true. The best the Dragons could hope for is that the gits would keep any pirate copies to themselves, and not distribute them to all their buddies. I did what I could on the way out, I informed the M.P.s at the exit to check for and confiscate all forms of recording that they found on personnel leaving the building. I didn't think it would do anything more than catch the obvious ones, but it would send a message to the others. It might make them more careful of who they shared their copies with. 


	47. Chapter 47: Into the office

BDP 47  
  
Ian was beginning to think he had a promising career in housebreaking if he ever got tired of the military life. This was the third secure area he'd broken into this week. Fourth to be technical, but he didn't really count Moira's apartment as secure. The door had yielded to easily to be considered a challenge.  
  
Although to be fair, Burke at least had locked her door. Dr. Pym's office had been wide open when Ian had tried the door. Moira hadn't asked him to check Pym's office, probably because she didn't think he had any more information than the rest of them. Ian didn't either, but he needed something to store the data he did find on.  
  
There were several diskettes just lying around the office that he picked up. Investigating a strange hump in the left corner he found, under a stack of paper, an external zip drive. Ian debated on taking it too, wondering if it would be missed. It would be nice to have the option of copying all of Casca's hard drive. In the end he took it, thinking with amusement that it would hardly be the first piece of equipment to sprout legs around here.  
  
Ian left Pym's office with the zip drive tucked into his shirt. The fatigues were baggy enough that the lump was hardly visible. Nottingham walked unchallenged the few feet of hallway that separated Casca and Pym's offices He was still shaking his head over the fact that the department head left his office wide open when he reached his objective.  
  
Casca's office was a different story. Like all the inner doors, there was an electronic passkey sensor that controlled the lock. With the proper tools such doors were quickly subverted. Lacking the equipment, Ian had been forced to unscrew the front plate, using the corner of his belt buckle, and hotwire the entrance. It had not been as easy as it looked in the movies. His fingers were still tingling from the current he'd inadvertently brushed against.  
  
Nottingham had put everything back together, once he'd gotten a green light, so that his tampering would not be evident to the casual eye. Unfortunately the computer logs would still show a manual override entry. Ian knew if he wanted to erase his tracks completely, he was going to have to access the system mainframe.  
  
He was probably going to have to do that anyway. Despite what he'd said to Moira, there was a very real chance that there was a recording of him striking Casca. Even if no one had been watching that monitor at the time, it would be observed when the surveillance tape was reviewed at a later date.  
  
Ian was just going to have to find a way to get to the tapes before that happened. If he were careful, it would look like one of the guards had misfiled the tape for recording over instead of archiving. Even if someone suspected that the tape had been taken, they would assume that one of the guards had it in his home-video collection. They would never think to look at the test subjects, who weren't even supposed to know that they were being monitored.  
  
Sitting on Casca's desk was a laptop. Moira had been right to think that tonight was their best opportunity to acquire the withheld data. Sitting down Ian logged on; thankful for once that he was very familiar with Casca. It made it a great deal easier to figure out his password. Once into the system, Ian was met with a bewildering array of files. None of the filenames did anything for him, being nothing but two or three letters followed by a three-digit number.  
  
Which files should he download? Sure as the world, anything he didn't, they'd need. Ian hesitated for several moments before deciding to copy everything. Anything that wouldn't fit on the zip drive would have to go on the diskettes.  
  
As the files were being copied, Ian wandered around the office. He opened cabinets and drawers while keeping an ear out for someone to come down the hall. It wouldn't do to get caught by an MP with an overdeveloped sense of duty. There was nothing of interest, just the usual office supplies and a coffee cup that was growing mold.  
  
The small laundry bag with women's clothing merited a raised brow, but the clothes were far too small to fit Casca. The pants and shirt were warm and practical, as were the boots sitting by the sack. In all likelihood they belonged to one of the women he had seen this evening. It would appear that at least one of them had dressed for the weather and changed after they arrived. Even knowing whom they really belonged to, it was still humorous to imagine the big German in women's clothes.  
  
In the end it took all the zip drive and four of the diskettes to copy everything on the portable computer. Ian wondered when Kenneth was going to release a scaled down version of the technology that the laptop was based on, it had a great deal more memory than he would have believed possible.  
  
Virtual loot safely tucked into his clothing, Ian made his way to the surveillance room. His second objective would be a great deal more difficult. The room was, as he predicted, filled with prurient personnel. They were totally absorbed in the cameras showing the converted labs.  
  
Ian had to admit it was a spectacle worthy of a look. The Dragons were wild, uninhibited, and primal. Dragging his eyes away from the monitors, Ian strode across the room like he belonged there. The others, seeing with their peripheral vision just another uniform moving briskly, assumed he was supposed to be there. They never looked up long enough to recognize his face. If they had, it would have been all over.  
  
A fine sheen of sweat glistened on Ian's forehead. Any other time, he could not have gotten away with this. Fortunately they were well and truly preoccupied. He stopped the tapes for everything but what they were watching and rewound them. Once they hit the end, he set them up to begin recording again.  
  
Nottingham looked longingly at the keypad near the cluster of men. There was no way he was going to get into the mainframe without being observed. He would have to hope that no one would think to scrutinize the keypad activations list. Although with what he'd done to the tapes, it would be impossible to prove who had bypassed Casca's door.  
  
Ian disliked relying on the stupidity of his enemy, but it looked like he had done all he could do tonight. With a last glance at the Dragons, Ian walked back out, heading to meet up with his lady. 


	48. Chapter 48: Finn

BDP48  
  
Ian jimmied the lock to Moira's apartment, noting that it was even easier the second time than it had been the first. He was going to have to remember to speak to her about getting a better lock. The place was dark, she obviously had not returned yet.  
  
Feeling a bit let down, Ian turned on the lights in the living room and returned to the small painting that had captured his attention on his previous visit. The fox was perfectly done, fur ruffled slightly from the same wind that curled around the stones.  
  
Ian shivered briefly, caught up in a sudden memory. This was Kensalayre, the standing stones on the Isle of Skye. It was there that Deidre had been offered up as sacrifice to appease Cathain, to summon her forth to Conchobar's aid. It was the same place that Irons had placed the Gauntlet on his wrist that one and only time. It had been a frightening night for Ian. At first because he knew the risks that his father was taking, but as the ritual progressed, he had a great many more things to fear than the fact that Kenneth might lose his hand to the Witchblade.  
  
The heavy fog had been filled with shapes half-realized, but all of them heavy with meaning. He couldn't help feeling that there was something ancient and angry waiting just beyond the feeble torchlight. Voices had come from the night, words that should never have traveled, given the sound dampening effects of fog. They had called to him in a thousand different languages, some of which he understood. He had thought they would drive him mad, and perhaps they had, a little.  
  
Nottingham turned away from the picture, not wanting to think about such things. Tonight he was going to be alone with his lady; there was no place for dark memories. He banished the images with one of Moira, her skin gleaming in the candlelight.  
  
It was such an appealing memory that he went looking through her cabinets, hoping to find some. In the linen closet in the hall he found a package of tapers, but only one candleholder. Scrounging through the kitchen, he found a decorative pair of crystal holders, still in their box. Ian wondered if they had been a gift, since they didn't seem to fit her style. Not that it mattered right now; all he cared about was that they would hold the candles. He grabbed a couple of small plates, knowing that the wax could easily be scraped off when he was done, to finish out his collection.  
  
He set the candles around the bed, making an intimate little pool of light. He headed back into the bathroom to see what else he could find. A small incense burner sat on top of the toilet, which made him grin. He wondered whom she'd gotten it for, Matheson or Weiss, or both? Tonight it would be put to different use. He took it to the bedroom as well, lighting the Panchavi stick from one of the already burning tapers.  
  
Wisps of incense curled toward the ceiling as Ian headed back into the living room. He turned on the stereo, searching the dial until he found a classical station. He turned it up enough to drown out the sound of the TV blaring in the apartment next door. With that done, Ian stripped and slid into the bed. He hoped Moira would return soon, the bed seemed empty without her.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Getting Ms Bronte off base was going to be a bit more difficult than Moira had originally considered. She had forgotten that she wasn't supposed to leave the base without written permission from her superior. The odds of Pym giving her a pass were slim and none.  
  
Of course, she didn't have to tell Pym the whole truth, did she? Besides, Pym's attitude toward the whole project had changed over the past few months. He seemed to want as little to do with it as possible. Moira reached for the phone at the front desk, her fingers crossed. "Dr. Pym? Yes sir. No sir. Casca has suffered a cardiac arrest. I've got something of a problem. Apparently Casca provided transportation for at least one of the women, and she's ready to leave. Do you want to take her back wherever or should I have an MP pick her up? No? Do you know what time it is sir? I suppose I could. Yes sir. Goodnight sir."  
  
"What?" Beth asked, having only one side of the conversation, and Moira's tone, to go by.  
  
"I asked Pym if he wanted to play chauffer, so he told me to do it. He's calling the gatehouse now to give me leave to depart the base. Come on." Moira started for her car. Glad at least that Beth was still wearing her visitor's pass, so they wouldn't have to brave Casca's office to retrieve it. She really didn't want to run into Ian in there. Beth might be ok, but what she didn't know, she couldn't be made to tell.  
  
They made it through the gatehouse without incident, the MP signing them out and collecting Beth's visitor's badge. Once off the grounds, Moira drove one way for a while, and then turned. She made an erratic pattern through the city, actually going around the block at one point. As deserted as the streets were at this hour, it would have been ridiculously easy to spot anyone tailing them, but Moira continued her circuitous route.  
  
After about an hour they left town and headed down the highway to a county road. They followed it for twenty minutes before pulling off at a farmhouse. Moira made Beth wait in the car while she went in and explained the situation to her cousin.  
  
If Finn objected, she could still take the brunette to a hotel. Her tow- headed cousin didn't disappoint her, saying he had room for the young lady and it would be an interesting change to have one of his charges talk back. His only stipulation had been that Beth had the option to stay or go.  
  
Finn wasn't a jailer, and he wanted that made perfectly clear. He was a large animal veterinarian, who patched up anything that crossed his path in his spare time. He had always made sure that the wild things he saved were free to return to the wilderness, so it was not an unexpected requirement.  
  
Moira hadn't seen anything wrong with his conditions, and readily agreed to them. Besides, she doubted that Beth could be kept here if she wanted to leave, considering she had escaped from Casca before.  
  
The point had become mute from the moment the two were introduced. They were both clearly taken with each other. Moira didn't think she'd ever seen Finn so flustered. He was practically babbling as he showed Beth around the house, introducing her to the menagerie of animals he was caring for.  
  
Beth seemed as taken with him as he was with her. The brunette looked at him as if he were a revelation. Finn cared for the animals, and it showed. He talked about each animal, detailing what had been wrong with them, as well as what he had done to correct their problems. Moira didn't think Beth was used to thinking of medicine as something that could be used purely for healing.  
  
It wasn't just Finn's nurturing and caring nature that Beth liked. Her cousin was, now that she really looked at him, attractive. Not handsome, but attractive. He was muscular and tanned from working in the field with the horses and cattle that were his main source of income. The shock of white-blonde hair and pale blue eyes were an interesting contrast to his sun-baked complexion.  
  
Goddess alone knew where Finn got all that melanin; Moira couldn't tan worth a lick. All she did was burn. She left Beth with Finn, assured that they would get along well. Beth was already unbending enough to kneel on the floor to pet, and be licked by, Finn's small army of rescued dogs. Somehow she didn't think they'd miss her, judging by the absentminded replies to her farewell.  
  
There was someone who was missing her, and she couldn't wait to get back to him. Moira wasn't so distracted by the fact that she drove straight back in, but the return route was far less circuitous. She logged back in at the gate and headed for her apartment, singing along with the radio, which was playing Rick Springfield's 'Affair of the Heart'. 


	49. Chapter 49: Master and Servant

BDP49  
  
Moira had half-expected to be met at the door. She knew that Nottingham would beat her back to the apartment. There was no way it would take as long to break in to Casca's office as she'd taken driving all over town. It wasn't that the time had been wasted exactly, she didn't trust Casca not to have someone following staff around, but she would have greatly preferred to spend the time with Ian.  
  
As she unlocked the door, she could hear the stereo. Beethoven, or was it Bach? Moira really didn't listen to classical enough to differentiate. Whatever it was, it was loud enough to drown out her neighbors, and probably enough to keep them from hearing what she was getting up to.  
  
It would seem that Ian had planned ahead. The thought made Moira smile as she shut the door behind her and moved into the darkened living room. A faint glow from the end of the hall told her where her lover was waiting, and by the play of light on the walls, that he'd found candles from somewhere.  
  
The candlelight reminded her of their first night together, and Burke grinned ruefully. She was hardly dressed the same, her underwear didn't even match. Moira debated taking her clothes off out here where he wouldn't see them. She was just vain enough to want to look her best for Ian, and somehow the white cotton bra she was wearing just didn't seem to fit the bill. At least her panties were presentable, being black satin.  
  
After several minutes of debate, Moira reached inside her shirt and unhooked her bra. She pulled the shoulder straps out of her sleeves, one side at a time, slipping it off without removing her shirt. It was difficult to do, as she was still wearing the turtleneck under her uniform. Burke unbuttoned her overshirt and draped it across the couch. A quick glance in the entryway mirror showed her that she could carry off the look.  
  
There was only one more thing Moira felt she could do to improve her state of dress. The black haired woman had yet to figure out how to make removing jump boots into something seductive, so she sat down on the couch and took them off. Moira dropped her socks over the tops of her boots and padded barefoot down the hall.  
  
Moira opened the door to a room transformed from ordinary to exotic. Soft curls of incense drifted lazily toward the ceiling, scenting the air with their delicate perfume. The bed was a golden pool of light in the darkness, and sprawled across the bed was her slumbering sultan.  
  
Not quite sure if it was the Middle Eastern incense or Ian's burnished gold skin and black hair that brought the image to mind, Moira decided to go with the fantasy. Even the radio seemed to be contributing to the mood, changing to another piece she didn't recognize, but was reminiscent of the music she'd heard while stationed in the Mediterranean.  
  
The idea of doing anything Ian wanted for one night was very appealing. Besides, he might be talked into returning the favor at some point. Well, first things first, the clothing was going to have to go. Slave girls didn't wear clothes to please their masters.  
  
It was too bad she didn't have some kind of costume. The best she could do was let her hair fall around her, and tie a fringed red silk scarf across her hips, which she did. Ian slept, or pretended to sleep, through her preparations. Moira wasn't sure either way, but was glad for it.  
  
Moira paused for a moment at the foot of the bed, closing her eyes as she slid into the fantasy. She shifted her head slightly from side to side, feeling the cascade of hair over her bare back and chest. The silk fringe tickled along its diagonal path over hip and leg. She felt very sybaritic as she slowly walked toward the head of the bed.  
  
Ian sensed her approach, as he had only been lightly sleeping while waiting for Moira to return. He had not stirred, waiting patiently for her to join him. His eyes opened the merest slit, but the vision that greeted him caused them to widen immediately.  
  
His lady was gliding toward him, hair falling freely to swing around her hips, which were barely girded by something that was red and silky. Her nipples peeked out of the curtain of black hair as she walked, appearing and disappearing in a manner he found more erotic than simple nudity.  
  
"Not that I'm complaining, but why are you dressed like that?" Ian pushed himself up on his elbows, the better to observe the approaching vision.  
  
Moira stopped her slow, almost stalking walk, once she was even with Ian's sheet swathed hips. She gave him a sultry smile; eyes half-lidded and filled with intent. "I was inspired by the mood you set, so I thought we'd try something a little different tonight."  
  
Ian reached out and flicked the red fringe trailing across her thigh. "Should I change as well?"  
  
"Oh no, we harem girls would never be so bold as to tell the sultan what to wear in his own bedchamber," Moira tried to give him a horrified look at the thought, but the mirth dancing in her eyes ruined the effect.  
  
"I'm pleased to hear it, since I rather doubt I would look as good swathed in such a small piece of fabric." Ian let his hand follow the diagonal path of the silk, his fingers barely skimming over her flesh, the fringe rippling like water in his wake.  
  
"I don't know about that," Moira gave him a considering look. In her mind's eye the silk was binding his wrists to the bed, and it was a very enticing image. She really hoped she could talk him into returning the favor some day. The things she could do to him once she had him in that position.  
  
"Yes." Ian said, breaking her reverie.  
  
"Yes what?" Moira asked, wondering if she'd somehow missed part of the conversation.  
  
"Yes to whatever you were thinking just now. You had the most incredible look on your face," Ian qualified. He'd never seen such a blend of mischief, passion, and hunger on Moira's face, outside of making love.  
  
"Hmm, thank you for the offer. We can try that out another time, tonight is all for you. Your willing servant awaits your orders, Master." Moira lowered herself on one knee beside the bed, her head dropped submissively.  
  
Ian stared down at that bent head and flinched. How many times had he knelt thus before Irons? His hands trembled and his heart pounded, but not with desire. Nottingham closed his eyes, trying to block out the image and the feelings it aroused in him.  
  
Sitting above Moira made him feel like a fraud. There was only one servant in this room. Nottingham should be the one kneeling, awaiting his father's pleasure. Or displeasure, which was a greater certainty, especially once he discovered what Ian had been doing.  
  
The silence stretched out, telling Moira that something was wrong. She had been waiting for Ian to give her a command, but the words were not coming. Her head tilted just enough so that her eyes could peek up at Nottingham through the curtain of her hair.  
  
The anguish in his eyes jerked Moira to her feet. "What is it, accushla mia?"  
  
"I have ever been the servant. It is all I know how to be. You kneel before me asking that I command you. I do not know what to say, or how to act. I feel like I should be the one kneeling. It is the pose I often held while waiting to hear what my punishment would be for failing, or offending my father." Ian closed his eyes, not wanting Moira to see the turmoil that was tying his guts into knots.  
  
"Diabhal do chuid infeheistiochtai," Moira's jaw clenched. She could do nothing about his past, and cursing the agent of his suffering, however much he deserved it, wouldn't help right now. Ian needed to work through this, not listen to her swearing. She could do that later.  
  
"Ian, you are not with your father. I have never been offended by you, or disappointed by you. Perhaps tonight we can create new memories for you. Let pleasure replace pain." Let me help you break another link in the chains that bind you, Moira finished silently.  
  
Ian gave her a dubious look. He was not at all sure he was capable of doing what Moira suggested. "How would you suggest I begin?"  
  
"This is supposed to be for fun. There are no right or wrong ways to act. Why don't we start simple? I know you've seen a lot of movies. Did you ever see 'The Sheik', with Rudolph Valentino?" Moira paused.  
  
Ian nodded that he had, looking surprised. "It's one of my favorites."  
  
"Did you ever want to be the sheik? Did you ever imagine what it was like, or pretend that you were he?" Moira looked at him intently, the happy chance that she had picked one of his favorite movies giving her hope that this would work.  
  
There was a long pause, then Ian gave a sheepish little grin and said, "Of course I did."  
  
"Well, why don't we both pretend together?" Moira asked gently. 


	50. A little Roleplaying

BDP50  
  
"I don't know if I can do this." Ian said softly, his eyes downcast.  
  
"No pressure accushla. If you can't, you can't. It will give me something to look forward to. After all, up against the wall in the shower was definitely worth the wait." Moira purred, hoping the reminder would bolster his confidence.  
  
"That doesn't count, YOU made ME wait, not the other way around. I was all for it that night, if you'd care to remember." Ian leaned back against the pillows, arms crossed, with a self-righteous expression on his face.  
  
"So you were. But it was still worth every second, even if you did give me the mother of all hickeys." Moira shook her hair back, exposing her neck. The bruise was still muted by the makeup she had applied earlier, but visible, even in the flickering candlelight.  
  
Ian stared at the dark stain that spread under her skin. His arms uncrossed and he reached for her throat. He wondered if it pained her. Nottingham stroked the delicate flesh with the pad of his thumb, careful to keep his touch light.  
  
It looked like what it was, a mark of possession. Ian remembered the drive to leave an indelible sign on Moira, wanting it clear that she was his. He had no doubt that she knew it too, "You must think I'm an untenable bastard."  
  
"When you did it? No. It felt wonderful. Afterwards, when I got a good look at it, yes. I wanted to throttle you. The bruise was damn difficult to conceal. I would have caught some serious Hell if anyone had seen it. There would have been a blistering write-up in my file, at the very least." Burke glared at Nottingham, the day's tension spilling into her voice.  
  
Moira had been certain every time someone approached her today that they had seen it, that the jig was up. There was also the fact that it was there at all. Ian's aggression had weighed on her mind; distracting her so much that she'd had to repeat several of her assigned tasks.  
  
Perhaps the hardest part to deal with had been the fact that she'd enjoyed their out-of-control lovemaking. That had disturbed her very much. Moira prided herself on being a modern woman, but last night she had set women's lib back to the Stone Age. It had taken some soul searching to come to terms with the fact that enjoying it did not mean she was going to regress to 'barefoot and in the kitchen'.  
  
The fact that she had feared it would showed Moira that she had been overcompensating for her own gender for too long. There was nothing wrong with being a woman. She didn't always have to be in control, or be better than the men around her. It was ok to be feminine, or to let someone else take command.  
  
It was part of what tonight was going to be about. Moira would give Ian control, because she could, and because he was worthy of her trust. She had not counted on his conditioning keeping him from consciously accepting control, not after last night.  
  
"I apologize. I would like to say that I don't know what came over me, but I do. I wanted to mark you. I wanted everyone to know that you were mine. Hardly the response of an experienced lover," Ian gave a self- depreciating little laugh.  
  
"Not necessarily, Ian. After all, our first time together you didn't do that. I think it has something to do with the way we've been rewinding and fast-forwarding evolution with you and the rest of your unit. There are bound to be primal behaviorisms that resurface, given how much the drugs have increased activity from the Limbic System. We will probably see more of the same marks on the women who stayed the night, if not worse. For them there is no emotional bond to temper their instinctual behaviors." Moira sat on the edge of the bed. She raised a hand to touch Ian's chest, only to have it grabbed.  
  
There was no makeup on Moira's wrist, nothing to soften the bracelet of bruising that traveled around her wrist. Ian realized that she had said 'more of the same marks', meaning more than the one on her throat. "When did I do this? More importantly, what else did I do?"  
  
."I'm not sure, but I think that first time up against the shower wall. Fortunately it looks worse than it is, this white skin shows every little mark. It doesn't even hurt." Moira prevaricated slightly. The other bruises were insignificant, she'd gotten them with other partners before Ian, but it didn't seem politic to bring them up just now.  
  
"Why don't I believe you?" Ian asked, his gaze moving over her bared flesh.  
  
"There's some slight bruising on my hips and thighs, but it's nothing like my wrist and throat. I had them the first time we were together too so don't go feeling guilty. I told you, my skin shows every little thing." Moira sighed. She knew he wasn't going to be content until he saw for himself.  
  
"Let me be the judge of that. If it's really nothing, why don't you show me?" Ian challenged.  
  
"As you command, Master." Moira stood and salomed. Maybe she could redirect this back toward the fantasy, and help Ian move beyond his subservient conditioning. It would be more productive than letting him continue to beat himself up over something he had not purposely done.  
  
Moira reached for the knot at her hip. Slowly, teasingly, she worked the silk back through the loops until only her grasp kept the silk in place. Watching him through the veil of her lashes, Moira let the fabric dip. Gradually the red silk reeled through her slack fingers, sliding down her legs to pool around her feet. When the fabric stilled, Moira moved her hands from her hip, holding them out slightly from her body as if in offering.  
  
Seeing her bare before him brought the primal feelings crowding back to the surface. Such beauty, and it was all for him. He stared, unable to pull his gaze away from the delicious contrast of white skin and night- black hair.  
  
There were faint shadows on her hips and thighs, just as Moira had said. Ian touched them gently, realizing they were from their bodies driving against one another. He remembered striving to merge their flesh into one, her soft pleas for more echoed again in his ears.  
  
Ian's doubts were eroded by a sudden wave of hunger. His feelings of guilt evaporated under the intense heat of it. Desire strained at the bonds of time and training, struggling to override his conditioning. 'She is bare before you, at your command. What else might she do if you but asked?' a portion of his brain whispered, holding out temptation like Eve with her apple.  
  
All those nights that Ian had dreamed of that which he was denied came back to him with a vengeance. Moira was clearly willing to bring those unvoiced fantasies to life. She'd suggested it, not him, so Ian knew that it was something she did not find objectionable.  
  
He was still unsure about his role-playing abilities, but he was ready to give it a try. Ian sat back against the headboard and sifted through a lifetime of dreams. Some Moira had already made come true, but there were others. "Dance for me, slave."  
  
Moira dropped her head, partly because it was in character, partly to hide her amazement. She had not expected Ian to accept her offer at this stage. That he was willing to consciously choose to be the dominant one in their exchange gave her hope that Nottingham was not so trapped in the past, as she had feared.  
  
Ian watched as Moira swayed to the music, her hair falling around her in a veil that both concealed and exposed. Her arms floated languidly around her, framing her undulating torso. Ian thought it looked very similar to the way she had moved over him during their first bout of lovemaking. It was growing easier by the minute to fall into the fantasy, his libido taking the reins. "Touch yourself as you dance."  
  
The command was brusque, but husky with desire. Moira obeyed, letting her hands slide down her torso and thighs as she moved. On their trip back up she skirted them around the sides of her breasts, over her throat, and back into her hair. She brought her hands together on the top of her head, hair woven through her fingers, and writhed as sinuously as she could.  
  
Peeking at him through her lashes, Moira could see that her movements were getting to him. His hands were unconsciously clenching and releasing the sheets, his breathing was becoming more agitated, and his eyes were blazing with hunger.  
Just watching him watching her was enough to make Moira burn, and she knew that she was more turned on than she could ever remember being without being very far into foreplay. Yet Ian had not even touched her. She moved one hand out of her hair and let it trail down the center of her body, swerving left over her hip to rest teasingly on her outer thigh.  
  
Ian gave a low growl. "Slave, I ordered you to touch yourself. Obey me or I shall have you beaten."  
  
"Yes Master. How should I touch myself? I want only to please you," Moira kept her tone suitably humble, but inside she grinned. Don't know how to be dominant huh? Ian seemed to be learning pretty fast, but then, he'd already proved to be a quick study. Why should this be any different?  
  
"Stimulate yourself. I want to watch as you pleasure your own flesh," Ian purred, all but licking his lips at the idea.  
  
Moira was a little shocked at his request; it was not something she had ever done. A blush crept up her cheeks as she hesitantly moved her hands to her breasts. She cupped them and kneaded them gently, working up the courage to touch her nipples. "Master, I would much prefer your hands to mine."  
  
"Not yet, little houri, show me what you would have me do. Where do you crave my touch?" Ian wasn't giving her an easy out. He really wanted to see this.  
  
"On those lonely nights when you do not summon me, I imagine your touch here, Master." Moira bit her bottom lip as she caught her left nipple between forefinger and thumb. She pinched it lightly and rolled the turgid flesh.  
  
"Do you know how much I burn for your touch? How much I crave it when you are gone from my bed?" While one hand continued to knead her breast, the other drifted lower over her belly. Moira stopped with her fingertips just grazing the nest of black curls at the juncture of her thighs.  
  
"I remember how it feels to have your hard thighs pushing mine apart, your hand demanding against my flesh, and the feel of your hard cock deep inside me, pounding into me until I come." As Moira spoke, she widened her stance and cupped her pubic mound.  
  
Her words, coupled with the sight of her hands caressing her own flesh, nearly ended the game. Ian wanted to be the one to touch her, wanted to pleasure Moira until she screamed. Ian kicked the sheet off, too hot to tolerate even the most minimal covers.  
  
His erection stood straight and proud, drawing Moira's eyes. Here was the true instrument of pleasure; this was what she needed. "Master, you are in need. Let me touch you. I beg to serve you."  
  
"Come here, but you may not touch me with your hands. If you do, you will be punished." Ian warned as Moira crawled onto the bed.  
  
"Clasp your hands behind your neck." He positioned her over him, the head of his penis barely brushing her clitoris. His hands on her hips kept her from moving except as he wished. The placement of her hands pushed her breasts, nipples as hard as he'd ever seen them, out in a wanton display. He moved his head as if he were going to take them in his mouth, but he did not, just letting his breath flow over them. She groaned in frustration but made no other protest, nor did she move her hands. Good.  
  
He lowered her slightly until just the head of his cock was inside her. He worked her up and down in slow shallow thrusts, careful to keep contact with Moira's clit. Soon she was squirming and whimpering, making small wordless pleas for more than she was getting.  
  
"Beg me for it. Tell me exactly what you want, what you need," Ian watched as the realization moved across her face that he was serious.  
  
"Master please, please," Moira looked down at his hands, tight on her hips, then at his face.  
  
"Please what slave?" Ian was clearly waiting for her to spell it out. Saying please wasn't going to get her any relief.  
  
"Please fuck me. I want all of your cock inside me." Moira hadn't thought she could get any more excited, but saying the words sent a jolt through her. "Please, I beg you to fuck me."  
  
Ian gritted his teeth to keep from coming right then. To hear her pleading for his 'cock' was heady stuff indeed. Without any other warning than the flexing of his arms, he pulled Moira all the way down. She had asked so nicely after all.  
  
Moira cried out in surprise and pleasure as she was impaled on his erection. He was inside her to the hilt, and it felt wonderful to be filled after waiting so long, She tried to raise up, to start a rhythm that would please them both, but could not move. His hands still held her hips right where he wanted them.  
  
"I've decided I like the sound of your voice. Beg me some more, but use my name." Ian gave her a smile worthy of Satan. He knew she was on the edge, and would probably acquiesce. Besides, she might not ever want to play this game again, so he was going to milk it for all it was worth.  
  
"Ian, please. I can't stand it. I need you Ian. I'm burning up. I want you to fuck me Ian, please," Moira trembled over him, waiting.  
  
She didn't have to wait long. Ian closed his eyes for a moment, committing the words to memory for those nights when he was unable to come to her bed. When he opened them, his hands lightened their grip, "Move for me."  
  
Freed, Moira began a swift rhythm. She was already so close to coming that it took only a few minutes of deep strokes before her orgasm overtook her. Moira spasmed over him, feeling him take control of her hips as she lost the motion. He forced her shaking body to ride him, the sensations drawing out her orgasm. She was ready to drop when he finally came, a deep growl of satisfaction coming from his throat.  
  
Only then did Ian let Moira lay down across his chest, his hands making sure they stayed joined. He enjoyed the way her body would periodically clench around his from the aftershocks.  
  
When Ian had his breath back, he asked, "So how did I do?"  
  
Moira, head down on his chest, rolled her eyes. "You did just fine Ian." 


	51. Chapter 51: Signs and Portents

BDP51  
  
Ian stirred in his sleep, his dreams dark and filled with fragmented images. Since sleep was a brain's downtime, where it assimilated the information it had collected during the course of the day, Ian was unsurprised by the tone of his unconscious. A great many things had happened today, some boding ill for the future.  
  
He wandered through the shattered dreamscape, trying to pick a path around edges sharp as coral. The air was dry and a faint metallic scent teased his nostrils. Before him lay a small shard with the image of a solemn, green-eyed girl inside. Ian bent and picked it up, wondering why his mind had chosen to show this to him.  
  
A closer look revealed brown hair with caramel colored sun streaks and the edge of the garage at the mansion. It was an image from a very long time ago; the elm tree she was sitting in had been infected with blight when Ian was ten. The groundskeeper had replaced it with a smoke willow. The edges of the shard were sharp, and despite his judicious handling, blood welled in the palm of his hand.  
  
"Blood is the river of memory." The image of the little girl said. She leapt from the branch and disappeared from sight, the leaves quivering from her abrupt motion.  
  
The blood in his palm rose up over the shard, and spilled off his hand. It snaked over the broken ground, splitting into two streams that crossed and re-crossed one another like a strand of DNA. As it passed a large spire of rock, Casca stepped from its shadow.  
  
"Blood will tell." The grey-eyed man tossed a small packet just in front of the flow.  
  
Scarlet slid against the white case, altering its course. The blood found its way to the base of a marble statue. Instead of going around again, it began to soak into the stone, tainting the white figure. Ian realized with a jolt that the marble woman was Moira.  
  
Ian clenched his fist in an attempt to stop the flow, forgetting the shard that lay in his palm. The edges sliced through his hand, the pain of it driving him to his knees. Blood flowed more freely from his mangled flesh, feeding the rosy stain that was now spreading over the stomach of the statue. How fast it was rising! What would happen when the statue was consumed? Ian knew he should do something, but he was frozen in place.  
  
A familiar weight settled on his shoulder. The silken voice of his master at his most furious purred into his ear, the tones deceptively pleasant to the uninitiated, "Ian, you disappoint me."  
  
Kenneth pried the shard from Ian's frozen grip, heedless of the new wounds made by it's passing. The jagged silver sliver changed in Irons' grasp, becoming a dagger. He thrust it into the white marble chest, striking up under the ribs to find her heart.  
  
Moira's scream echoed in Ian's ears. It became apparent that this was no statue. Her eyes begged for his aid as she sank toward the bloody ground, her own blood falling to mingle with his. Still caught in the grip of that strange paralysis, Ian watched the light fade from her eyes.  
  
"Remember Nottingham, the weapon that slew your beloved came from your own hand." Kenneth's voice rolled over Ian like a wave. "Unfortunate really, that you could not leave her be, she was quite lovely."  
  
Ian awoke, still cold to his bones from the cultured malice that emanated from Irons. He deserved whatever happened to him, he had been disobedient. Punishment always followed failure, but it was his own flesh that suffered. The idea of Moira paying for the blatant disregard of his training horrified Ian.  
  
He opened his eyes and looked over at Moira. He hoped to find a measure of peace watching her sleeping face, only to find her awake and watching him. Concern had darkened her eyes to the color of twilight. She was lying on her side, one hand propping up her head. Ian got the feeling she had been watching him for a while.  
  
"Nightmare huh?" Moira asked as she reached out with her free hand to stroke the arm he had flung outward during his dreaming.  
  
"You could say that," Ian grimaced, unable to shake the feelings of guilt and fear that had tormented him. He wanted to believe it was just a bad dream, but there were too many disturbing elements for him to be able to shrug it off. "I think we took too many chances tonight."  
  
"Perhaps, but they are called chances because things can go either way. Failing to act could have been far worse. Besides, look at what we have gained. We have the data from Casca's computer, Casca himself is temporarily out of commission, the Dragons will have no offspring born into bondage, and we helped set free an abused child. Not a bad night's work really." Moira's hand reached his clenched fist.  
  
At her touch, Ian realized it was still closed from his dream. He opened his hand slowly, half expecting it to be scarred in some way, but there were only four small crescent marks from his nails. Nottingham stared at the indentions, remembering the blood that had fallen from him to weave a serpentine trail across the cracked ground. "I need to get back to the lab."  
  
Moira rolled away from him to glance at the alarm clock behind her. The glowing red display said 2:11. Ian was probably right; he should be getting ready to head back. The last thing they needed was for his absence to be noted, especially since they had been so bold this night. When Casca inquired later, it would behoove them to have the duty staff remember Ian as being in his berth all night.  
  
Ian slid out of bed and walked to the bathroom, totally unaware of the erotic picture he made. Moira sighed behind him, appreciating the view. The fact that they could not be a normal couple chafed her sometimes, despite her best efforts. Logically she knew that such wishes were counterproductive, they had to be happy with what they could get. Emotionally though, Moira was coming to resent their time apart, as well as all the subterfuge. What she wouldn't give for them to have an entire day free of intrigue. A day where they talked, laughed, and made love without fear or concern.  
  
Nottingham stood under the shower's spray, trying not to remember the last time he had been in here. He couldn't afford to be distracted with such things, pleasurable as they were. He needed to get back to back to barracks without raising any suspicions, which meant going to the hospital to check on Casca. As far as anyone back at the lab knew, he had followed the paramedics to check on Casca's well being. If he returned without any information on his condition, the jig would be up.  
  
After the dream Ian had just had, he didn't want to go anywhere near Casca. Somehow his subconscious knew something that his conscious did not, and was trying to tell him. What had that little white case held? He'd only seen it for a moment, not long enough to get any real idea. He'd said 'Blood will tell' when he'd thrown it though. Maybe it was some kind of sample kit? Was there something different about him, something that would show in a blood test?  
  
Knowing there were no answers to be had here, Ian dried off and dressed, pausing to exchange a long and concerned look with Moira. She saw the questions in his eyes, as well as his desire to think alone, and let him go in silence. 


	52. Chapter 52: Down but not out

BDP52  
  
The hospital was the quietest Nottingham had ever heard it. Only the soft hum of equipment and the rapid-fire clicking of a keyboard met his ears as he walked through the automatic doors. There wasn't a single patient waiting to be admitted, not one to fill the void in the lobby with coughing, impatient mutters, or the rustle of magazines. Ian's footsteps were unnaturally loud in his ears as he moved to the front desk.  
  
"What can I do for you?" The duty nurse said in distracted tones, never even looking up from her monitor. She was obviously transcribing the day's charts over to the computer, her blonde head moving slightly back and forth as she looked from the paperwork to the screen.  
  
"I am here to check on a civilian admitee, Dr. Gustav Casca. He was having chest pains, an ambulance brought him in earlier this evening." Nottingham made sure his voice held assurance and the right amount of distance. He did not want to encourage conversation, not that the woman seemed overly inclined to do so, but better to keep this short. Ian did not want this discussion to stand out in her memory.  
  
She gave an impatient sigh and swiveled her chair so she could access another workstation. A few moments later she turned back to Nottingham. Her small brass name badge caught the overhead light. It flashed and dimmed as she shifted with little glimmers that teased the eye.  
  
It made Ian feel oddly disconnected for a moment. Blood roared in his ears, drowning out whatever the woman said. She leaned toward him, moving the brass out of the light, freeing him to think again. Nottingham was aware that she was staring at him intently; he could feel her eyes on him.  
  
Ian knew he had to come up with an excuse fast, and make it plausible. He shook his head slightly and met her concerned expression with a slightly sheepish one, "I don't usually pull extra duty, but I got smart with a superior officer. This is my third night pulling a second shift. It's starting to get to me."  
  
"Well, you won't be the first guy to master sleeping at attention, and I doubt you'll be the last. Remember to take extra vitamins, so your system doesn't get any more run down, and in the future keep your mouth shut." The nurse, who's badge he could now see read Muller, grinned up at him with that odd blend of sympathy and 'you brought it on yourself' that only career military seem to use.  
  
"Will do, ma'am." Ian nodded, inwardly relieved at Muller's easy acceptance of his excuse. "Now, what were you saying when I zoned out?"  
  
"I said that Dr. Casca is in room thirteen, he's in stable condition. Dr. Blair has him scheduled for more tests in the morning. He thinks it's stable angina, but wants to be sure. You can look in on him, but he was given a sedative two hours ago. I doubt he will even be aware of your visit." Muller pointed down the hallway to the left.  
  
Nottingham thanked her and walked off in the direction Muller had indicated. He didn't have to go far. Ian hesitated in front of the door. Casca's chart was in a clear plastic wall tray. There was really no reason to go in, all the information he needed was right there, but a lifetime of training pushed him to go in and see Casca's condition for himself.  
  
Irons had always insisted that Nottingham see to a thing himself, especially if it was important. Ian could hear Kenneth's voice in his head, 'One can never trust the observations of another, for by their very nature, their perceptions cannot be yours. It is best to see for one's self, whenever possible.' It was pivotal to their plans that he knew the nature and extent of Casca's infirmities. It could be very dangerous for all involved if this man was in a condition to be able to leave the hospital and return to the lab while they were unprepared.  
  
The door opened with the faintest of squeaks, and Ian moved into the room. With typical hospital setup, the entry was something of a small hallway, as a bathroom took up the first third of the space. Once past that, Ian could see that a curtain had been pulled across the remaining back half of the room. Which meant that there was another bed and another patient.  
  
The unknown patient must have had his chart behind Casca's. Ian was surprised to see Casca sharing his room. That must really chap his ass. The thought made Ian's lips quirk upward slightly with mirth.  
  
"You think this is funny?" Casca growled from his reclined position.  
  
"No sir. I was thinking that there had to be an easier way to get a day off." Nottingham knew that there was no good answer to that question, but no answer at all would be worse. Besides, it was all he could think of. He had not expected Casca to be awake, not after taking a sedative. Perhaps he should have, Casca was more likely to palm the drug and be in pain than be vulnerable in a situation he couldn't control.  
  
"Humph, so there should be. Well, what are you doing just standing there? Report!" Casca barked.  
  
"Actually, I came to check on you. I have nothing of import to relate, having followed you here as soon as I was able." Ian prevaricated. He could hardly tell Casca what he had been up to this evening.  
  
"Of course there are 'things of import to relate'. Start with how I came to be here. The doctors seem to believe that I suffered a cardiac arrest, brought on by stress. The last thing I recall is yelling at Burke for being a pain in the ass. Who told her that morality had any place in a laboratory?" Casca used the switch at his side to elevate the top half of his bed, so he could glare at Nottingham without straining his neck.  
  
The question seemed rhetorical, so Ian ignored it. "You were arguing with Dr. Burke, rather vehemently. You were very red in the face, and there were veins bulging quite prominently in your face. I watched you clutch your arm and you paled. The next moment you were dropping to the ground. I think the physicians are going to find that it was a stress-induced attack. When is the last time you had your blood pressure checked?"  
  
"Never mind about my blood pressure," Casca waved the question away, "So that's all that happened? I have a hell of a sore jaw for a heart attack."  
  
"You think Burke could hit you hard enough to knock you out?" Ian gave a small grin, letting incredulity creep into his voice.  
  
"Never underestimate women Nottingham, they are stronger than you think. Irons has done you a grave disservice by not exposing you more fully to them. So what did happen to my face?" Casca touched his bruised jaw.  
  
"You came semi-aware as they were trying to strap you into the board to carry you to the ambulance and tried to escape. Probably would have gotten away from them too, if they hadn't already strapped your legs in. As it was, you fell sideways and hit the end of the board, disorienting you enough for them to get you secured. I was impressed by your reflexes." Ian cursed himself, he knew better than to lie so elaborately.  
  
The fabrication would not hold up under investigation. If Casca encountered the paramedics again, they would tell a very different story. Unfortunately, it was all he could think of. The bruise was at the wrong angle for Casca to have done it himself falling, he never would have believed that. Ian could only hope that he would encounter the paramedics first, and they would be amenable to bribery.  
  
"I dislike being confined." Casca said, and seemed content to leave it at that. "Now, tell me about the rest of the evening."  
  
"There is very little to tell. Everything has continued as planned, insofar as I have been informed. Save, of course, your situation. The doctor says he believes it to be stable angina, but he is not yet certain. So I am here to check on your condition for myself. I would have more complete information when I contact Irons. If you feel unable to continue, or if Dr. Blair discovers that you need surgery, a replacement will have to be found." Nottingham kept his voice empty; it would not do to imply his preferences either way.  
  
"That will not be necessary. I have performed under far more difficult situations than this. Besides, I will be out of here soon enough, Irons will see to that. He wants this project to succeed even more than I do." Casca settled back on his pillow. It was clearly a dismissal.  
  
Nottingham pivoted on his heel with military correctness and started toward the exit. He had barely taken the first step when Casca's voice stopped him.  
  
"One more thing. My computer is in my office. It's portable, and I want it transported here. If Blair doesn't like it, he can kiss my overexposed ass. I don't trust them not to steal my research." Casca growled.  
  
"But surely the data is encrypted?" Ian asked in shock, never expecting to be given this particular order.  
  
"Of course it is. However, given the right tools and time, any code can be unraveled. Ellis is the one to watch, all that toadying is a front. I've worked with his type before. He would love to steal my research and claim it as his own. If that bitch Burke weren't so morally uptight, I'd tell you to watch her too. Although I don't know how much more you could possibly watch her than you do now." Casca turned his head, pinning Nottingham with disapproving grey eyes.  
  
"I don't know what you mean." Ian dropped his gaze, afraid that he did know. It was too much to hope that their closeness would go unremarked by this man. Casca was far too aware of what went on around him to have missed it.  
  
"Spare me the protestations. Burke is almost as attractive as she is intelligent. If she were possessed of a few less scruples, Irons would have recruited her when her file first came across his desk two years ago. Probably would have bedded her too, you know how he is with dark haired women." Casca smirked.  
  
Ian winced; he did indeed. The idea of Moira and his father did not sit well at all. Nottingham looked away, not wanting to give Casca the satisfaction of seeing how upset he was.  
  
"Speaking of dark haired women, if Ms. Bronte does not stay the remainder of the night with you, arrange for her to berth somewhere inside the compound. Pick-up for the women has already been arranged; their escorts will arrive at o-nine-hundred. See to it that they are ready to go." Casca closed his eyes, finished with Nottingham for the moment.  
  
"Yes sir," Ian left, relieved that Casca had not grilled him about Beth. He was not sure why, but he was willing to take the reprieve offered.  
  
The door closed behind Nottingham. Casca could hear his footsteps fade away as he walked down the hall. After three beats of silence, the curtain behind him opened with the faint 'shirring' of metal bearings in a track.  
  
"He's lying." The blonde-haired med-tech said.  
  
"I am aware of that, Hawkins." Casca waved dismissively at the young man, "I found his omissions almost as interesting as his deceits. Besides, Olsen should be in with his report as soon as Nottingham returns to the lab. We'll know the truth soon enough. In the meantime, lets look over those lab results." 


	53. Chapter 53: Aftermath

BDP53  
  
The next morning I buried myself under a mountain of paperwork and stayed there. When Weis asked me what I was doing, I told him I was staying out of trouble. I didn't trust myself not to be bitchy. He seemed about to say something but changed his mind. He just nodded, relieved that I was being practical. If only he knew.  
  
The pile on my desk was all legitimate work, mostly things I'd been putting off. I really did need to catch all the files up, and correlate the data. Sometimes I let the stuff go that I like the least until it reaches nightmare proportions. This stack wasn't that bad yet, but there was enough to keep me busy for hours.  
  
About 1020 I heard raised voices coming down the hall. Since I had left my door closed to aid in the distance between the rest of the lab and myself, I couldn't make out any details. There was only the rising level of sound as they came closer.  
  
It would appear that my self-imposed hermitage was coming to a premature end. I had hoped to be left alone until at least lunch, but knew it unlikely. When the women left, someone was bound to note that there was one less than there should be. Dr. Pym would doubtless dump the complaining civilian on me and go back to entrenching his position in Casca's absence.  
  
However long THAT was. I wasn't holding my breath that he'd be gone long, but even a day without him had to feel very liberating to poor Pym. I wondered what he would do. There should be some shuffling among the ranks now that Casca had been exposed as merely mortal.  
  
I made a mental note to check in with the hospital and see what their diagnosis was. I doubted they would find any damaged tissue or blocked arteries, but he could very likely have some form of heart disease, maybe even arterial sclerosis. Just playing the odds, I had a sixty percent chance that he had something wrong with him, he was male, Caucasian, and slightly overweight. I might suggest, if his physician hadn't thought of it already, that they check for microcardial angina.  
  
The invasive nature of that battery of tests brought a genuine smile to my lips, just in time for the door to open. I watched Pym enter the room, followed by a burly civilian. Built more for intimidation than mobility, he was tall and heavily muscled. I doubted that his arms had hung at his sides in years. Finish it out with a military short buzz-cut and an inky scar crawling over his lantern jaw and you had an image that screamed 'professional muscle'.  
  
Thanks to the cousins 'in the business' I had been exposed to this kind of specialized flunkie before, just in a more relaxed environment. I knew that these men liked everything simple. They followed orders very well, but they were not good at creative thinking. Him, I could bullshit. By the time he reported in and his superior had finished taking him apart, Beth's trail would be very cold indeed. I turned that smile on him and said brightly, "What can I do for you sir?"  
  
"You can tell me where Ms. Bronte is." He glowered at me, clearly not in the mood to exchange pleasantries.  
  
"I took her home last night, as she requested. Has something happened to her? In spite of her profession, she seemed like a nice girl." I played stupid, trading on men's tendency to think that all really intelligent women had no common sense.  
  
I've actually met a few in my time; the 'Ivory Tower' complex unfortunately has its basis in reality. It was easy to pretend that I was one of those women. I just hoped that Pym didn't give me away; he was giving me the strangest look. Ok, so maybe calling her a nice girl, especially after my attitude yesterday had been a bit much.  
  
"Where exactly did you drop off Ms. Bronte?" He actually cracked his knuckles for emphasis.  
  
I had to stifle a grin; this guy must read old private detective novels in his spare time. "Why?"  
  
"I was sent to pick up all the women. If one is missing, I must report to my superior. I like to have all my facts in order. Surely you can understand that." He was trying, I had to give him that.  
  
"Why certainly. I don't remember exactly though, I'm sorry to say. We went up and down a few blocks before she found her apartment. Said she'd just moved in and couldn't remember anything but that it was next to the bus route. I think her building ended up being on 22nd St. I hate to admit it, but I got turned around trying to find my way back. I don't get to far from downtown when I do get off base. Sorry." I shrugged.  
  
He closed his eyes for a moment, I could almost hear him thinking, 'Women!' Which was fine with me. "Why did you take her anywhere then?"  
  
Ohh, a glimmer of intelligence, and perfectly timed to take the heat off me, "Ms. Bronte was most insistent that she be taken home. I think her feelings were hurt, since she was the only one not chosen. I asked Dr. Pym if he wanted to do it, or assign an M.P. but he told me to deal with it since I was already there. I'd have rather not had to deal with it at all, truth be told. I had to be back in the lab at 0800."  
  
"Thank you for your time. If you should remember anything else, please don't hesitate to call," he handed me a business card.  
  
The card said Vorshlag Industries, big surprise there. I smiled up at him, "Certainly." I watched him leave. As soon as the door closed, I threw the card in my wastebasket. The only thing I was going to call him was a galar togalach, and I didn't need a phone for that.  
  
I tried to put Vorshlag and it's employees out of my mind and get back to work. After the third error in as many minutes, I sat back in disgust. I looked down at the stacks of paper on my desk with irritation. I just couldn't get back into the groove.  
  
I reached for my coffee cup and found it empty. Seizing the convenient excuse, I picked up the mug with the 'Kiss My Shamrock' motto on it and headed for the little community kitchenette for a refill.  
  
Matheson was already in there, watching the pot percolate. I leaned against the cabinet next to him, "So, what's up? You haven't stopped in to mock me for letting my paperwork get out of control. Not even an 'I told you so.' I'm starting to think you don't love me anymore."  
  
"Hey, is that what you've been doing? I thought you were staying away from the lab in protest. I was actually thinking about joining you." Matheson looked troubled. He would not even meet my eyes, staring at the coffee pot as if it were fascinating.  
  
"The political maneuvering was the main reason I decided to spend the morning playing catch-up. I take it the back-biting and position jockeying was pretty fierce?" I thought there was more to it than that, but I wanted to let him volunteer the information. I think he needed to talk about whatever it was that was bothering him anyway.  
  
"Well, there was that. Naturally. It's more Weis' game than mine. I'd rather expend my energy in a more productive manner. No, it was the situation in the lab this morning. Whatever reason you chose to stay away, it must have been inspired. You didn't need to see that." Matheson shuddered a little, like he'd taken a chill.  
  
"See what?" I demanded more than asked. I flexed my hands, feeling the remaining stiffness from the bruises on my wrists. I had a bad feeling I knew what he was going to say.  
  
"Some of them are." there was a pause filled with meaning, "having difficulty walking. It took an hour to get them patched up and out of the lab."  
  
I hung my head, guilt weighing heavy on my mind. I could just imagine what kind of shape the women were in this morning.  
  
"Some of the men are asking permission to visit a priest. I think Dr. Pym is going to arrange for someone from the chaplain corps to come here instead." In a rare fit of anger, Matheson threw his mug across the room. "Dammnit! The rooms were being monitored. Why didn't they get those women out of there!?!"  
  
I looked at the white shards, Matheson's face too naked in it's emotion to watch comfortably. I was afraid I knew, and the reason was as bad, if not worse, than what he was thinking. I didn't have anything comforting to say, so I laid a hand on his shoulder. It was all the support I could give. 


	54. Chapter 54: Misere me

BDP54  
  
Father Allen arrived promptly at 0900 Wednesday. It was the morning after the request had come across his desk. Normally he waited a few days after sending his acceptance reply before arriving, just because of the time things took to get through channels. But there had been something about the wording on the form that had made him uneasy.  
  
He had given his entire day over to this, not knowing what to expect, but prepared for the worst. The fact that the small room set aside for hearing confessions looked remarkably like an interrogation chamber did nothing to soothe his nerves. The walls were bare white, with a slight change of hue along one wall that denoted a viewing window to the trained eye.  
  
Father Allen had done his best to change the mood of the room. He pushed the metal table to the wall and moved the chairs so they were closer together and facing each other. He laid his Bible and a spare rosary over the table, trying to soften the harsh look of the metal in the overly bright lights. It wasn't much, but it was all he'd had to work with.  
  
Allen been a little worried about the image it presented, and hoped that it wouldn't keep his new parishioners from speaking freely. If he was right, they needed to be able to tell him everything that was bothering them. By the time the second man had come to him, the 'feel' of the room was the least of his concerns. The next several hours tested his faith in ways he had not expected. The padre felt like he'd been put through a wringer by the time the last soldier on his list departed.  
  
The four men he had seen were sick to their souls, and it had taken everything he had to listen calmly as variations of the same story were told over and over. To a man they spoke of their actions as if they had been possessed, although they blamed it on the treatments instead of Satan. He kept hearing how they had felt out of control, and that something took them over. They complained of memory loss, but said it felt like they had lost time, not memory. Helplessness punctuated their posture as they spoke, clearly demoralized by what they had done.  
  
Despite the growing horror in his own soul at what he heard, Father Allen knew he had to be strong for them. If they knew how upset he was, they might stop talking, and they needed to talk or they wouldn't be here. The traditional confessional kept a certain amount of distance between sinner and priest for the benefit of both. The padre found himself missing the barrier. He'd had more practice schooling his voice than his face.  
  
It should not have been that difficult. The Father was not unfamiliar with the extremes the military was willing to go to in the name of national security. After all, he hadn't always been a priest. Yet this was different somehow. Perhaps it was because the men had to live with what they had become forever. They were the weapons; there was no way to set aside what had been laid into them. To a man they were afraid of what they would do next, and the padre didn't blame them at all.  
  
When Allen had been sixteen, he'd lied about his age so he could join the Army. He wanted to go to Vietnam like his two older brothers. He'd always been big for his age, a life of farm labor saw to that. If the recruiters suspected anything, it was that he was just under draft age and didn't want to wait for his birthday. With all the draft dodging going on, they were pleased to take someone eager to join, and looked no closer.  
  
At the time, Allen had been elated. Full of his grandfather's stories from the First and Second World Wars, he saw himself becoming a hero. He was going to liberate the oppressed Vietnamese people like his grandfather had done in France and England.  
  
But Vietnam had been a very different war from the nostalgic tales of his grandpa. There was no glory to be had, only horror and the struggle to survive. The deep and abiding resentment from the people they were supposed to be 'saving' was clear in every face. They wanted the Americans gone badly enough to booby trap their dead and turn their own children into human bombs.  
  
These were the people that they were being told to bleed and even die for. It became easier to believe they deserved to have entire villages bombed and their women taken against their will when faced with such ingratitude. The boy he had been came to resent the Vietnamese as much as they had resented him.  
  
Not even the children begging in the streets with napalm scars summoned any pity after seeing the remains of less fortunate comrades. The soldiers had been tortured to death and left hanging like obscene yard ornaments.  
  
Instead of seeing each person as a person, they all became gooks or Charlies. The fact that to Western eyes they all looked very similar helped with the illusion that they were all the same. It was even easier to hate them that way, it made them less than human. Allen had watched men become monsters, had almost become one himself.  
  
He had been teetering on the edge of the Abyss, his heart the only cold thing in that humid little slice of Hell, when he'd been bitten by a Krait. The snakes were nocturnal, sleeping during the day. Soldier and gook alike were frequently bitten when stepping on one during its daytime rest, as he had just done. Without antivenom, most died.  
  
Their unit had no antivenom. Myers had been carrying the snakebite kit when he'd stepped on a mine. Allen remembered the horrible cramps as he laid praying to live, and then praying to die. In his delirium God touched him, and offered him a choice. Allen had refused, to full of hate to accept. Everything faded to black.  
  
He woke up in an American hospital three months later; with the duty nurse telling him he had been very lucky. Turns out, he'd been in a coma. While he'd been out, the war had ended. Allen could go home.  
  
But home wasn't home anymore. Allen had changed too much in the bush to ever fit in again. He didn't like to be touched, found the city too loud, civilians rude, and had nearly broken his mother's arm when she came in to wake him one morning. He wasn't the only one having difficulty adjusting.  
  
The suicide rate climbed among veterans who could not leave their experiences behind or could not deal with the hostile homecoming. Public sentiment had been in violent opposition of America in Vietnam, and that attitude extended to the soldiers who had served there. Even talking with his two elder brothers, who had also served, did not help him. They had similar memories and experiences, but no better idea how to deal than he did.  
  
In his isolation God called to him again. This time he listened. God lead him out of the darkness and his experiences helped him to bring back other tormented souls. Today he had done his best for four more such men. Somehow the Father had been able to give them guidance without letting his emotions run away with him. He was as angry as he could ever remember being, but not with the Dragons.  
  
No, the blame for this rightfully belonged to the ones who had brought them to this state. The Father did his best to set the troubled soldiers on the road to self-forgiveness. God, he knew, had already forgiven them.  
  
Father Allen also knew however, that many who came to him did not feel that a confession alone would grant absolution. It just seemed too easy. The priest had discovered that if they had to work an earthly atonement, they found peace with God much easier. Rather like a small child trying to glue back together something they had broken, there was tangible evidence of their repentance. It was something they could see and measure against. An actual labor seemed to comfort them more than sore knees from praying ever did.  
  
So instead of assigning a score of 'Hail Marys' or 'Our Fathers' he had told them to spend time examining their actions and to find ways to keep such things from happening again. He also asked them to spend their first leave doing charitable work as part of their penance. Volunteers were never turned away; almost every shelter in town was understaffed. Father Allen had not specified where they should volunteer, but he rather hoped they would make their way to one of the battered women shelters. There would be certain symmetry to such an end.  
  
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been an eternity since my last confession."  
  
The priest looked up from his Bible as the rich voice filled the room. A very tall black man stood in the door, his face composed but his dark eyes haunted. "Come in and have a seat, you look like you need it."  
  
"My apologies, but I cannot," Mobius ignored the proffered seat. The only outlet for his rage and self-loathing was motion. He paced the small room like a panther marking off the confines of its cage.  
  
"If motion will give freedom to your voice, then I am hardly inclined to protest." Father Allen gestured with his hand as if saying 'do whatever you must'.  
  
For several moments Mobius simply paced. He was obviously uncertain where to begin. The tall soldier was clearly gathering his thoughts. He stopped suddenly in front of the still-seated priest and began to speak in the resonating tones of one used to giving orders.  
  
"I have never believed in the Devil as such. What is evil varies from culture to culture and age to age. It always seemed to me that such was an attempt to take an abstract idea and turn it into something concrete. Now I find myself in the uncomfortable position of revising my beliefs. There is something inside me that is alien, evil." Mobius beat his breast once, hard, with a closed fist.  
  
Father Allen laid aside his book. He had been trying to find some comfort in its pages while waiting to see if anyone else would grace his door, but something told him that his need paled in comparison to that of the man in front of him. 


	55. Absolution

BDP55  
  
It had been a very long week, one filled with self-recrimination, doubt, second-guessing, what ifs, and guilt. A pall hung over scientist and volunteer alike. No one seemed exempt, even Ellis was showing signs of regret over his part, a first as far as anyone could remember. The spectres of ten women seemed to haunt the halls, although no one had actually died.  
  
Not even the breather granted by Casca's continued stay in the hospital seemed to cheer anyone. Moira's little hint about microcardial angina had fallen on fertile ground. His physician was keeping him until further testing could be completed. There were very few cases of the disease, none of which had been military, and it was very likely that the good doctor was excited over the prospect of being the first physician in his circle to treat one. Blair could dine out on it for weeks.  
  
Moira found the instant karma to be very entertaining, in a black sort of way. Of course, the only humor that seemed appropriate right now was the dark variety. Mirth and merriment were banished, and not just from her work environment.  
  
Ian had seen his brothers' handiwork and it had frightened him badly. He had come to her side almost every night, but they mostly talked. The few times they had tried to make love it started very slow and controlled, with Ian treating her as if she were made of spun glass. As soon as he started losing control he stopped. It was very frustrating for them both, but Ian could not be moved.  
  
Nottingham was afraid he would hurt Moira. She never knew how much he restrained himself, how strong his discipline truly was. Some nights he woke from nightmares that relived his attack on Beck, only when the red mist cleared he was looking at the bloody ruin of Moira's face. What if he turned on her like he had his fellow Dragon? The dream alternated with the river of blood nightmare until Ian had circles as dark as any of his brethren under his eyes.  
  
The news of a chaplain setting up shop seemed to bring some measure of calm to the beginning of the second week. Anyone with the slightest religious bent intended to unburden himself, or herself in Moira's case, in the bosom of the incoming priest. The first available slots were earmarked for the Dragons, but there were at least as many techs and scientists who wanted to be shriven.  
  
It wasn't exactly said, but the feeling was there, that this Father Allen might find his visit to turn into a permanent assignment. He was certainly going to know more about the project than the Brass was going to be happy about, once he was done taking so many confessions. They would hardly want him out running loose while the experiment continued.  
  
Interestingly enough, the first day was exclusively for the Dragons, though several were wavering over whether or not they wanted to talk to an unknown, even if he was a priest. They were not wishful of facing any more condemnation than they were already heaping on themselves. The personality of the padre was going to make a big difference in how much he would actually help, and everyone hoped that he would be understanding and gentle with his judgments.  
  
The relieved faces of the four who had been brave enough to make appointments told those watching that Father Allen was everything they could have hoped for. Breath no one had realized they were holding was released. The atmosphere relaxed a fraction. Those who had been reluctant to sign up for a confessional found their way to the front desk to make requests.  
  
Mobius did not bother. He went straight to the small room allotted to Father Allen. He felt vaguely regretful that he had not signed up to begin with, although he was not a religious man, let alone a Catholic. The idea of confession had always struck him as silly. If the idea of doing something was shameful, you should know better than to do it. If you did it anyway, you should learn from it and move on.  
  
Asking some stranger to intervene between you and the universe for your wrongdoing seemed juvenile. It was tantamount to saying you weren't able to take responsibility for your own actions. Yet, that was exactly the position he found himself in. The thing that took over in the dark hours of the night could not be he, but somehow it was.  
  
The door was open, and the priest was seated inside. He was as heavily muscled as a draft horse, but he cradled the bible in his overlarge hands with the ease of long familiarity. Moby realized he'd been expecting some small bookish fellow, not someone who looked like a Viking berserker. Too many MASH reruns he realized, and managed a small grin for his preconceptions.  
  
Such thoughts did not lighten his mood for long, there were too many depressing things vying for his attention. Mobius closed the door behind him, not wanting everyone to hear what he was going to say. Such things were not for public consumption.  
  
When the door opened two hours later, a much calmer man emerged. Mobius seemed greatly improved for his visit with Father Allen. The anger was gone from his step; the self-loathing had left his eyes. He paused just a few paces from the doorframe, eyes locking with Nottingham's.  
  
Ian had been waiting, but not to talk to the priest. It was Moby's council he sought. His problem was too delicate, and he was too new at sharing his fears and feelings, to speak to a stranger. He had hesitated all week, not wanting to add to his brother's burden. What he saw in Mobius' face gave him hope that there was a solution to be had for his problems as well. 


	56. The Spider in His Web

BDP56  
  
Casca was hardly what one would call a model patient. He had terrorized the duty staff until they avoided his room like the plague. This was no small feat considering they were used to bad behavior and worse language, especially from high-ranking patients. The nurses brought his food, his medication, and that was it. No inquiries, no pillow fluffing, and definitely no lingering.  
  
This suited Casca just fine. He had a great deal of uninterrupted time to himself, which he put to no good purpose. He liked to imagine himself as a giant black spider, spinning out an invisible web of treachery in which to catch his prey unawares. Casca tallied data, reviewed security tapes, and listened to reports from his spies. He used this information to check the status of old plots and institute new ones.  
  
The recordings from Burke's apartment were a greater source of amusement than information. To be sure, he had not been pleased initially. This was the obvious source of Nottingham's defiance and Burke's assault to his person. He had not believed Nottingham's cock and bull story about struggling with the paramedics for a minute. There had been an attack all right, but it wasn't his heart, it had been hers.  
  
Women were just as prone to violence as men, the only difference being that females fought to protect others long before they would think to attack for themselves. He had clearly aroused Burke's maternal instincts, given that she had helped Bronte escape, as well as her territorial ones over Nottingham.  
  
Casca had wanted to sign himself out of the hospital and confront them both at the apartment. He could use his knowledge to blackmail them into doing exactly as he wished. He savored the vision for several minutes. Then the surge of fury passed, and Casca began plotting.  
  
Nottingham poured out existential angst and sexual tension like a bad French movie. The soldier teetered precariously between his passion for the doctor, and his fear of hurting her. Casca thought it would not be long before the confused virgin gave in to the demands of his flesh, no matter what he had seen his brethren do.  
  
When he did, Casca intended to reap a bountiful reward. He had switched Burke's birth control pills. It was very convenient of her to use the brand manufactured by one of Vorshlag's pharmaceutical firms. It had been simplicity itself to substitute out her prescription. The packaging was the same, but the pills inside were for fertility. When the two finally had sex, the odds were greatly stacked in favor of conception.  
  
All Casca had done was arrange to have several of the white compacts delivered with the wrong label. One of his flunkies slipped into her apartment to make the switch, the other to the base pharmacy, where he had made arrangements with one of the pharmacy techs. When Burke ran out of her current batch and went in to pick up her refill, she'd just get more of the same.  
  
The pill Burke was taking now had been designed to cause the release of multiple ova. Add that together with the chemical cocktail he'd had put in her coffee, and she could conceive as early as three days after changing meds. If Nottingham did lose it and maul Burke, she probably wouldn't let him near her again. Once might be all the chance they would have for conception, so Casca had taken some very hasty steps and had to trust to luck, both of which he hated to do.  
  
Burke could have noticed something amiss about the pills, or even her own body. Current events had conspired against her, and with Casca though. Everything was so chaotic, that even if she did notice anything, she'd chalk it up to stress. Especially when her period didn't start on time. It would probably take her weeks to realize the truth, but by then it would be too late.  
  
She would be far enough along in her pregnancy that any abortificant Burke could possibly concoct would be very dangerous to the mother, even fatal if there was no one to monitor her and she had a reaction. Of course, Burke was religious enough that she might consider abortion murder, and not even try to do anything about the baby.  
  
Or babies. The black haired bitch could end up with triplets or even sextuplets. It didn't matter to Casca if she did; extras came in handy in this kind of research. Irons would be pleased as well, having become strangely concerned over Nottingham's refusal to participate in this part of the program.  
  
If he wanted to breed that bloodline up, Burke was a very logical choice. Casca had investigated her very thoroughly a few years ago. Moved by some odd suspicion, he had recently acquired a strand of her hair for DNA testing as well. She was highly intelligent, more cunning and devious than any of them had originally thought, and most important, had several of the same genetic markers as those of the missing Bronte girl.  
  
That thought brought a flinch; even though it was hardly the first time subject eight had escaped. Irons was inordinately cross over the whole situation, despite Bronte's tendency toward flight at the slightest opportunity. Casca was actually glad to be hospitalized. It had gone a long way to exonerating him, as it was difficult to retain control of someone when you're having a heart attack, but Irons had made it clear that he had used up any leeway he may have had.  
  
The wrath of his master was something Casca worked very assiduously to avoid. Unlike many who were employed by Kenneth, he was not fool enough to believe his position gave him any immunity. Sitting at the right hand of the Devil only meant that he didn't have to reach out very far to smite you.  
  
Casca had his agents watching for Bronte. With no money and no way to arrange gainful employment, she would resurface as soon as she got hungry enough. She always had before, and when she did, he would be ready. In the meantime, he would pretend to be as wounded as his enemies could wish. Let them grow fat and complacent in his absence. Their incaution would only make it easier for him to catch them when he returned.  
  
A soft tap at the door was met with a brusque, "Come." Casca smiled coldly at the tall black man opening the door. He had a trap to spring, and this was just the person to set the bait.  
  
******************************************************************* 


	57. Confession

BDP57  
  
*  
  
There was no privacy to be had in the lab, so Nottingham and Mobius made their way to the obstacle course. To anyone who thought to check, it would look like they were simply exercising. That both were in good enough shape to run the course and carry on an intelligent conversation would hopefully never enter their minds.  
  
As they were climbing the first wall, Moby glanced over at Ian, who was being oddly silent for someone who wanted to talk and said, "Spit it out."  
  
"Will you ever be able to trust yourself again, after what happened?" Nottingham asked bleakly, continuing up the rope without looking over at Mobius.  
  
"Yes I will. I already do, although I can see that you do not. Why is that? Of us all, you alone have shown restraint."  
  
"Was I restrained when I attacked Beck? I didn't even know what I was doing, but he would have been dead just the same if you and the other Dragons had not intervened. What if the next time it isn't someone who can defend against me until help arrives or I am overcome? " Ian reached the top of the wall and dropped over the other side.  
  
Mobius froze at the top of the wooden palisade for a moment, and then dropped over the other side. Several things clicked into place for him at once. The looks between Nottingham and Burke, the seemingly obscure comments overheard while waiting for orders from Casca, the faint shadows of bruises behind makeup, the recent distance between two who had been inseparable, and the nightmares that brought his bunkmate shivering awake with the name 'Moira' on his lips.  
  
Two heavy strides brought him even with Nottingham. Giving no warning, he punched the dirty bastard in the right kidney. Ian dropped but recovered quickly, rolling away from his adversary. He gained his feet and braced for the next attack, although he could not imagine what had caused Moby to strike him. He looked at his brother, the question clear in his eyes, "What have I done to offend?"  
  
"You son-of-a-bitch. You attacked the only person who's been willing to tell us the truth, and to help us when she can." Mobius used his greater reach to advantage, managing to get inside Nottingham's defense and punch him in the face.  
  
Ian reeled back, as much from the words as the blow. Moby thought he had attacked Moira? Has she said as much to him? No, that was not her way. Perhaps he let something slip while dreaming? His nightmares had been so vivid. They were not truth only fear, but one who had no way to know the difference could very easily mistake one for the other.  
  
Nottingham opened his mouth to speak, feeling the soreness of his jaw. He had to make Mobius understand the truth. "I would never deliberately hurt Moira."  
  
"I have never deliberately hurt a woman either, but I have hurt one. At least it happened to a woman who had never been my friend. The Doc trusted you, and you abused that trust, didn't you?" Mobius punctuated his question with another blow, which Ian blocked.  
  
Nottingham was so stunned by the accusation that his body reacted to the threat automatically, following the parry with a strike to the exposed nerve cluster in Moby's armpit. The arm flopped at the big man's side, useless until feeling returned. Ian hoped it would slow his brother down; he didn't want to fight him. He moved to put some distance between them saying, "I don't know what are you talking about."  
  
"I suppose those weren't bruises? Oh wait, let me guess, her curling iron slipped and burned her. Then she slammed her wrists in a car door, right? My, my, how clumsy of her." Mobius shook his head, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  
  
"Oh, that." Ian felt the trap closing on him. How could he explain without telling the whole truth? Nottingham knew that he was a terrible liar. It just wasn't in him to be dishonest. His best option under normal circumstances was to remain silent. That didn't seem to be a good choice this time though. Moby would take his silence for guilt.  
  
"Yes that. It looked suspiciously like some of the same marks the women with us got. All of them needed, and received, medical attention the same day. Tell me, has anyone examined Moira, or is she still suffering her injuries untreated?" Mobius rubbed his arm, trying to force feeling back into it. Unwilling to continue a physical confrontation until he could use his arm again, he contented himself with a verbal assault.  
  
The embers of guilt and self-doubt that had been smoldering inside him all week were fanned by Mobius' angry words. Ian had seen the marks without the muting effect of makeup, and it had looked bad. He had chosen to believe Moira when she claimed it looked worse than it was, but even at the time he had been afraid she was just reassuring him.  
  
What if she had been? What if Moira had been damaged internally? Would she know just how hurt she was? Being a doctor did not make you any better able to self diagnose something like that than your average layman, but she might think it did. Moira could be bleeding internally; they had heard that a few of the other women had been. Nottingham looked up at Mobius with eyes filled with horror.  
  
"I'll take that as a 'no'." Moby growled. Both hands flexed, the only warning Ian had, and the two were grappling. With his superior strength and mass, Mobius had clear advantage. Muscles flexed as the two struggled, locked together.  
  
Moby shifted his weight slightly, freeing up his front leg. He aimed his kick at Ian's groin, angry enough over his offense that he didn't care if it was considered a low blow. In fact, to his mind, it was an appropriate retaliation.  
  
Ian shifted his stance, tucking his pelvis and twisting slightly, so that he took the blow on his thigh. Mobius dropped forward into him, using the momentum of the kick to get inside Nottingham's reach. He followed up with an elbow to the temple that Ian barely blocked.  
  
Nottingham did not, however, stop the rabbit punch to his ribs. Because of the angle, it was painful but not debilitating. A deep breath told Ian that they were not broken, but he could not tell if they were cracked. He would take a lot less damage if he went on the offensive, but somehow Ian couldn't do it.  
  
What if he lost control again? Nottingham would never forgive himself if he killed the first friend he'd ever had. It didn't matter that what happened wasn't as reprehensible as Moby seemed to think; the truth was bad enough. Nottingham deserved his brother's censure. He didn't even try to dodge as Moby threw his entire body into his, sending them to the packed earth of the field.  
  
They hit the ground so hard it shook. Air was driven out of both sets of lungs. For a moment the two combatants lay frozen, trying to remember how to breathe. In that instant of stillness, their eyes met. Moby could see that Nottingham's heart wasn't in this fight. It was almost like he was taking the beating as his penance.  
  
This silent acceptance wasn't what Mobius had expected. He had wanted to beat some remorse into him, and some answers out. Well, if the key weren't physical, he'd try an emotional approach. Moby's gravelly voice spilled into the small space that separated the two men, "Rape is hardly a fitting reward for the way Burke has done her best for us."  
  
That widened those amber eyes, jolted his brother out of his quiet. "Is that what you think I did?"  
  
"After the bruises, the strained silence between the two of you these days, and the nightmares you've been having? What else am I to think?" Mobius tightened his grip as Ian shifted under him; there was no way he was letting Nottingham up when he was this close to getting answers.  
  
"It was consensual, of that I can assure you. Moira has her own way of defending herself, and it's far more lethal than you might expect." Ian remembered the chemical weapons scattered throughout the apartment. He didn't doubt for a moment that she had more of the same around her person and the lab.  
  
"Consensual in the beginning, but then you lost control like we did, didn't you? Except. it had to have happened before. The Doc was wearing a turtleneck under her uniform, but you could see the shadows if you looked, and as stiff as she was moving, I looked. Why didn't you warn us, you prick?" Mobius asked harshly, his eyes filled with betrayal.  
  
"Because what happened between us was different. The bruising at her throat was some primal territory-marking thing. I was having a hard time controlling my jealousy, as you have reason to know. I tried to kill Beck for touching her. In my dubious state of mind, it seemed like a good idea to make sure every other male knew she was claimed. Moira enjoyed my attentions at the time, but when she saw the mark later, she was very cross." Ian gave Moby a rueful smile.  
  
"Turned out to be a not-so-good idea, huh?"  
  
"That, my friend, is an understatement." Ian looked aggrieved.  
  
"What about the other bruises? Why did you look so afraid at the idea that Moira might be bleeding internally?" Moby kept his voice level with effort. He was struggling with the urge to smack Nottingham again, just to make sure he had his complete attention.  
  
"Moira said it was her skin tone, that she showed every little thing, and it always looked worse than it was. I wasn't sure that was the case, but she said she had some of the same marks when we had sex the first time, and we hadn't started the treatments back then so." Ian belatedly clamped his mouth shut in horror. This was why he hated to say anything when he was in trouble. He invariably said something that made it worse.  
  
Mobius looked at his brother in shock. For several moments he was struck silent. "What? When?" was all he could manage to say, but his tone conveyed a Shakespearian soliloquy of questions. 


	58. The will is the link

BDP58  
  
It took Ian twenty minutes to spill out the past five months. He held nothing back that pertained to his relationship with Moira, but some ingrained caution kept him from mentioning his assault on Casca or their theft of his data. It wasn't exactly healthy to know such things anyway. If Nottingham were caught, at least he would not have dragged his brethren into it.  
  
Mobius let his brother talk without interruption. Once Ian wound down, Moby mulled over everything he was told. It wasn't what he had expected. After several minutes of silence he gathered his thoughts and began to speak. "So the reason you two are estranged is that you don't trust yourself, not that you've hurt her? I owe you an apology for earlier, but I can see I stopped to soon. I haven't beaten any sense into you yet."  
  
One side of his mouth curled up in a smile. Mobius couldn't believe that Nottingham had so little faith in himself, or his beloved. Burke was obviously a smart and resourceful woman. He didn't doubt that she was capable of taking care of herself, so some of what Ian said just didn't wash. He intended to take him to task until it did.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Ian took a step back, his ribs were tight and his thigh was throbbing where he'd taken that kick. He was not in the mood to go another round with the bigger man.  
  
"You are afraid of something you haven't done, in spite of multiple opportunities. Believe in yourself, Ian. You are stronger than you know."  
  
"How can you say that? I attacked Beck. I was out of control with Moira. Just because I didn't hurt her this time, doesn't mean I won't. I was rougher with her than I am comfortable with. When the cold light of reason returned, I was appalled." Ian paused and closed his eyes in remembrance.  
  
"But," Moby began; only to stop as Nottingham raised a hand to indicate he wasn't done speaking. Clearly, his friend needed to get this out of his system.  
  
"Maybe it wasn't on the same scale as what happened to the rest of you, but it is not how I would choose to treat her. When you love someone, it should be like the old tales. We should converse together, I would compose poetry in her honor, and I would kiss her hand. When I had proven myself worthy, she would allow me into her inner sanctum. We would celebrate one another, and consummate our love. It should be full of tenderness and mutual passion, like our first time together, not me falling on her like a ravening beast. It's a wonder she still speaks to me."  
  
Nottingham opened his eyes as he finished speaking; the torment in them keeping his brother from making the flippant comment that had hovered on his lips. In the streets he had grown up in, romance and tender feelings had no place. Lust and mutual respect were the best you could hope for. Mobius had always told himself that it was better that way. Love was for suckers. There was less chance of pain or betrayal if you never involved your heart.  
  
He had never known the things that Ian was mourning. Moby felt that he had thrown away something precious without ever realizing he had it. The feeling blocked his throat for several minutes. At last he found his voice, "True love, the kind they talk about in fairy tales, is very rare. I've never felt it, nor known anyone else who has. If you've found someone that makes you feel that way, don't give up on it."  
  
"Do you think I want to give Moira up? She is the Moon. Without her, I dwell in darkness." Ian sighed. He knew his feelings sounded melodramatic out loud, but the phrase sprang from his lips unbidden. He hoped Moby wouldn't laugh.  
  
Mobius didn't even crack a smile as he replied. Indeed, it never occurred to him, so serious was the moment. "Then fight for her. No matter what the impediment, even if the obstacle is something within yourself."  
  
"How can you say that? If I go near her again, I could hurt her." Ian hung his head in remorse and shame. It hurt him to even think about what he might do.  
  
"You have to have faith, my brother. Believe that you can do this," Moby stared at the bent head, willing some of what he was saying to penetrate. He'd never seen anyone just roll over and accept that they could not have something they desired so strongly. What was wrong with Ian?  
  
"I'm afraid of the thing that takes over. It's me, but it's not. The hunger, the desire, they are my feelings, but they are twisted into something I barely recognize, and hardly understand. I don't know how you've come to make peace with yourself, why it is that you no longer fear. Was it something the priest told you?" Ian asked sharply, his face a tormented mask.  
  
"Yes and it's not what you'd expect. He's an old soldier before he's a priest. We talked about the nature of war and violence, the effect of military conditioning, and the lasting damage done by denial. Then we talked about the spirit, and our connection with the universe. It was a very far ranging conversation, one that made me think. Do you know why I finally decided to trust myself again?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Because no matter what the drugs and the various therapies have done, they can do nothing but work with what is already present. Those feelings and behaviors are not wrong, just very primal. They predate the cultural mores developed to contain those emotions. Without those learned behaviors, we could not live in such close environs as effectively as we do. It is a part of our selves seldom seen, and even less frequently allowed free from the bars and chains of civilization."  
  
"This rationalization helps you how?" Ian did not find this idea comforting in the least, nor was it an entirely new concept. The scientists at the lab had trotted out this explanation, and Moira had discussed it with him in the darkness of her apartment.  
  
"These behaviors are not evil, just different. You don't know how much I feared that I had been possessed. I just couldn't believe that I was capable of something I'd been raised to believe abhorrent. It was my body, my brain, how could it subvert my will? Yet through my ignorance, I gave that part of me free rein. Now I know better. I can learn to control this part of myself, and I will." Moby squared his shoulders. If there was one thing he knew to be true above all else, it was that the will was the link to the universe. He would be in control of himself, because he so badly wanted to be. It was that simple.  
  
"You think you can do that?" Ian asked, feeling hope stir within him. This was something he could understand. Fighting and being in control of himself were two things he excelled at. Losing control was what had frightened him so badly, to be honest. If it was just a matter of learning a new way to remain in charge of his body, that he could learn to do.  
  
"I know I can, and so can you. Why don't you go talk to Moira tonight? I bet she'd be willing to help you work on it." Mobius smiled, almost wishing he could be a fly on the wall for that conversation.  
  
"That sounds like an excellent suggestion. Thank you for everything. Even for the beating. I won't forget that you were willing to defend Moira's honor, even from me. There's more of the knight in you than you like to let on." Nottingham laid a companionable hand on Moby's bicep.  
  
"Perhaps," was all Mobius was willing to say on the subject. The two turned and headed back to the lab. 


	59. A Bad Day

BDP59  
  
Moira left the lab without a backward glance. She had stopped watching for Ian, both here and at her apartment. Those few nights this last week that they had been together had been filled with disappointment and frustration. The nights that he hadn't, Burke had stressed over what he was doing instead. She couldn't help wondering if he had written them off. The thought hurt more than she wanted to admit, even to herself.  
  
Tonight the black-haired scientist was too tired, from the combination of a heavy workload and the emotional roller coaster ride that her life had become, to care if he showed or not. Pym wanted to get as much done as they all possibly could before Casca was released from the hospital. This had meant late nights and early mornings since the second day of Casca's forced medical leave.  
  
The only thing Moira was interested in right now was a hot bath, a glass of wine, and sleep. Not necessarily in that order, but hopefully not all at once. Sleeping in the tub would give her such a crick in the neck, not to mention turning her into a prune. It was a chance she was willing to take. There was no way Burke was crawling into bed without doing her best to relax first. Her muscles were so knotted with tension that she'd never get any real rest if she didn't.  
  
Burke practically dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment, but she wasn't too tired to watch for the black hair to fall when she opened the door. It dropped exactly as it should, and Moira felt a little tension leave her shoulders. No one had been in her apartment today.  
  
She had not been surprised when there had been no hair on the day after Casca's little accident, that had to have raised alarm bells with Vorshlag, but Moira would never be foolish enough to leave anything incriminating in her apartment. The search had been in vain, and Ian had somehow gotten to the tapes at the lab, so they were in the clear. They had to be; someone would have come to her by now with an ultimatum or a hand out for a bribe.  
  
The only thing out of the ordinary they could have found would have been the chemicals scattered around the dwelling, but none of them were on the proscribed list. It would have taken someone trained in chemical weapons to understand what they were looking at. Just in case they had, Burke had moved everything to new locations afterward. If anyone came for her thinking they knew where her weapons were, they would be in for a nasty surprise.  
  
The thought made her smile all the way to the kitchen, where she opened a bottle of Silver Oaks. Burke left the heavy red wine to breathe while she ran her bath. She was generous with the bath oil, pouring in enough to create great frothing mounds of white. Moira hated to run out of bubbles on those rare occasions that she indulged in a long soak.  
  
Humming under her breath, Moira stripped, throwing all her clothes in the wicker hamper. She shrugged into her favorite old burgundy robe and pinned the stray hairs back into her bun. The bath oil was bad for her hair, and she preferred to keep it out of the bubbles, instead of having to shower it out afterwards.  
  
The terrycloth was soft and comforting against her skin, even if it was a little shabby these days. It wasn't something she'd ever worn around Ian, feminine vanity kept it safely in the back of her closet. This was the sort of thing you wore during a sleepover with your best girlfriends, the kind where everyone put on green mud masks and giggled while painting their toenails.  
  
It had been years since Moira had enjoyed a night of simple feminine bonding. There were no women in her workplace to form friendships with. The small percentage of the base population that was female, besides the wives, were working hard not to be. The married women did not bear mentioning, so many of them were sleeping around when their husbands were gone that it was a bloody soap opera.  
  
Surrounded by all the memories buried in the fabric, she realized how much she missed those uncomplicated little get-togethers. On her next leave, Burke resolved to rectify that condition. She'd go back to New York, look up her old girlfriends, and spend a night just being a girl.  
  
Moira padded on bare feet back into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. She scooped it up, lost in thought, and headed back to the tub. The water was blissfully hot as she sank past the bubbles, letting her head rest on the cool porcelain edge. She took a sip of the wine, rolling it around in her mouth. The wine was full-bodied, the flavor taking away the lingering remnants of a truly lousy day. The dark haired woman closed her eyes and purred with pleasure. All she needed now was chocolate.  
  
Or a man whose eyes were the same shade as really good chocolate when he was talking about something that made him sad. Eyes that reminded her of brown velvet when they lay in the aftermath of passion. Moira shot up, sloshing water and sending a wave of bubbles over the edge of the tub. She was annoyed with herself for the thought.  
  
There was no way she was going to dwell on Ian 'look but don't touch' Nottingham tonight. He was slowly driving her crazy with his behavior. They would talk, but no matter what she said, Ian would never give in, never let go. She appreciated that he didn't want to hurt her, but damn. Moira couldn't be close to him without wanting to touch him, and didn't understand why he didn't feel the same. His repeated refusals and now avoidance was making her short tempered and irritable.  
  
Somehow, Doctor Burke had fallen in love. Worse, she'd fallen in love with a test subject. That little fact made her explosive. Her temper, never great to begin with, was becoming legendary around the lab. It was a good thing Casca wasn't around; she'd have managed that fistfight she owed him by now.  
  
She'd already punched Ellis for telling Moira that she should just stay at home during her period. When he'd gotten up off the floor, he'd threatened to have her arrested for assault. She'd smiled unpleasantly and informed him that she had kept a record of all his sexual innuendos, which she would happily hand over to the M.P.s and claim self defense.  
  
Ellis had slunk away like a whipped dog. Too bad she couldn't handle her other problem as easily as that. This went waaay beyond 'petting the mice'. It was so cliché, so stupid, as to be laughable. Too bad she wasn't laughing. If she were found out, Moira would lose her position and her career. It might have even been worth it if Ian had loved her back.  
  
Miserable again, Moira huddled under the bubbles. She took a long swallow of wine, now more interested in its high alcohol content than it's flavor. Maybe if she got just a little drunk, the pain would go away for a while so she could sleep without dreaming. The wine disappeared faster than she could have believed possible.  
  
With a sigh of frustration she set the empty glass on the edge of the tub and stood. Mounds of fragrant white bubbles clung in patches to her skin. Moira reached for the dark blue towel that hung on the brass rod and froze.  
  
Someone had opened the front door. They were trying to be quiet about it, but for once the substandard construction of the building worked in her favor. The door didn't hang that well on it's hinges, and it always scraped the floor when it was about a third of the way open.  
  
There was no way it was Ian, not the way he'd been behaving lately. Just this afternoon he'd left the common area as soon as she entered it. No, this was probably one of Casca's flunkies, if not Casca himself. Moira knew he was capable of getting out if he wanted. She'd heard how the staff avoided his room like the plague.  
  
Forgoing the minimal protection of the towel in favor of her robe, which would survive being wet well enough, she stepped out of the tub. Moira pulled the burgundy terrycloth around her and belted it, leaving her hands free.  
  
Sitting by the toilet, looking for all the world like innocent cleaning supplies, were two bottles. The first one was bleach and the other was ammonia. Put them together and you got chlorine gas, put them together with water, and you had hydrochloric acid. Moira had already used some of the contents to create several vials of the acid, which she kept around the house.  
  
In the bathroom there was one in the medicine cabinet and one behind the soap dish she never used. Moira grabbed them both and moved on silent feet to the side of the half-open bathroom door. She peered out cautiously, trying to see without being seen. 


	60. Gets Worse

BDP60  
  
"That won't be necessary Doctor." The voice was cold, calm, and worst of all, behind her. Moira spun around, one hand up ready to throw, and stopped. The man was wearing all black, right down to the monochrome barrel pointed center mass.  
  
Burke sucked in a breath as she looked up the silenced pistol to his face. His features were difficult to pick out of the camouflage, but his eyes seemed to float in all that darkness. They were a startlingly pale blue. They were also neutral, giving away nothing, exactly what one would expect from a professional.  
  
"What do you want?" Moira managed to ask around the knot in her throat. She had a pretty good idea why they were here, but she wanted to make sure. After all, she'd broken a lot of rules lately, and probably earned herself some highly placed enemies she didn't even know about.  
  
"You stole something from my employer a few weeks ago. I'm here to get it back. You would be wise to tell me what I wish to know." He smiled, and it wasn't friendly, more like a baring of teeth.  
  
"You're going to have to be a little more specific than that." Burke said casually, letting her hand drop slightly. It was all she could do to maintain a calm façade. Inside she was thinking, 'Oh shit, they're after the data!'  
  
If they were, she'd be better off throwing the acid and taking her chances on getting shot. The files were long gone, and she wasn't implicating her cousins, just because they had done her a favor. There was no doubt in Moira's mind that these men were authorized to torture the information out of her, and after that, well.She had a feeling everyone involved was short listed for a long walk off the nearest pier.  
  
"There was a girl with dark hair and green eyes. Her name is Beth Bronte. You transported her to an undisclosed location. Tell me where she is, Doctor, and we will leave you in peace. If you choose otherwise, well, it would be a shame to ruin such a beautiful body." His pale eyes roamed over the burgundy robe in a manner that left no doubt that he knew what lay under it.  
  
This was it, her only moment. As his eyes dropped, Moira threw the first vial, which shattered against his chest. It splattered outward from the impact point, smoking as it began to burn into his body armor. He jerked on the trigger reflexively, body spasming as the acid bit into his flesh, but he never cried out. Moira threw herself to the side, trying to stay clear of the swinging muzzle.  
  
The silenced pistol made very little noise, but the sound was distinct, and enough to bring his companions bursting through the door Burke had turned away from. The first man through took a slug high in his gut. The body armor saved his life, but the impact knocked him down and the pain was enough to leave him stunned on the ground.  
  
His partner fell back through the door, unwilling to risk the friendly fire. Moira was pressed against the wall, as there was no real cover to be had except back into the tub, which was out of the question. To reach it she would have to cross the door, and two lines of fire.  
  
Burke felt her odds were better where she was, especially as the pale- eyed man's gun stopped firing. He slumped to the ground, head falling at an unnatural angle, and Moira realized why he had been so silent. Some of the acid had splashed his throat, taking out his larynx almost immediately. She fought down the urge to vomit as she looked at the corroded flesh, knowing that now was not the time. 'Later', she promised herself, 'later you can fall apart.'  
  
The third man made a quick peek over the doorframe. It was enough to tell him that his partner was still unconscious, and their leader was also down. He would come in, gun leading, in seconds. Burke didn't have much time. She hefted the second vial of acid and moved for a better angle. She had been lucky not to catch a bullet last time, and had no desire to push it.  
  
He came in sideways, presenting less of a head-on target, just like Burke had thought he would. Her angle was better than before, but not great. She was out of the direct line of fire, but with the way he was moving, she didn't have a clear shot at center mass. Moira could take a chance on taking out his head, or taking out his hand and the gun. Everything was moving in slow motion, a trick of perception that gave her the feeling she had forever to decide.  
  
Without the added oomph of magnesium, she was afraid it would take the acid too long to eat through the metal. Knowing there was no real choice, Moira hurled the vial at his head and prayed. The glass took on a soft glow as it passed under the light, hanging beautiful in the strange suspension of time. Then the vial shattered across the bridge of his nose, and beauty was gone.  
  
Time speeded up again as the third man brought his hands up toward his melting ruin of a face. Instead of screams, the room was filled with a horrible burbling as he struggled to breathe. Moira would have preferred the screams.  
  
She staggered to the first man she had killed and pried the gun out of his hand. Now that she was out of danger, she could be merciful, and end his suffering. The slide was back on the gun. Moira slumped down the wall she was pressed against. The pistol must be fully automatic, and when he squeezed down in his death spasms, it kept firing until the clip was empty.  
  
A rattling wheeze brought Moira's attention back to the other man. As she watched, the blood quit bubbling over the half-melted crater that used to be his nose. The eyelids had burned away, as had most of his eyeballs. Her gorge rose again, and this time there was no holding it back.  
  
Moira twisted and lunged for the toilet, without standing back up. There wasn't time. Fortunately she didn't have far to go. The porcelain was cool under her hands and on her forehead, and then she was throwing up. The wine came up the color of blood, and that was all it took to send her into another spasm.  
  
The black-haired woman hung over the toilet until there was nothing left in her stomach and tears fell freely from her eyes. Finally she sat back on her haunches, hoping she was done. The sharp smell of vomit lingered in the air, making her guts twist. A hand rose up weakly and flushed, getting rid of most of the scent.  
  
Moira knelt there for several more minutes, knowing she needed to pull it together and call the M.P.s. She braced against the wall and stood, trembling from the adrenaline bleed-off and feeling about as strong as a week-old kitten. Burke moved very carefully, giving the dead a wary berth. She was also concerned about stepping on the broken glass and acid blotches eating into the cheap linoleum flooring.  
  
'Department of Housing is gonna love this', she thought, and fought back the urge to giggle. It wasn't funny, and Moira recognized it for the edge of hysteria that it was. She gritted her teeth and pulled herself together. This wasn't over yet, and in some ways the worst was yet to come. She wasn't looking forward to the questions or to having Haz-Mat come through to clean up the bodies.  
  
Burke padded on bare feet down the hall to the kitchen. She needed to rinse her mouth out and neutralize the rest of her chemical arsenal before using the phone. The last thing she needed was one of the Zacharies to get curious. The open carafe of red wine was ignored in favor of a bottle of lemon mineral water from the refrigerator. The slightly bitter flavor cut through the bad taste in her mouth and the lemon would help restore her electrolyte balance.  
  
She stood there with the cool bottle resting against her forehead, trying to decide the most efficient method of clean up, when the distinct sound of a hammer cocking reached her ears. Moira stiffened. The second man, the one who had taken the friendly fire, had recovered consciousness. She could have kicked herself for forgetting about him.  
  
"Put the bottle down slowly, you fucking bitch, and don't get any ideas. All I need is an excuse." The voice was filled with anger, loathing, and underneath it all, horror. 


	61. Late for the party

BDP61  
  
Nottingham had decided to take the high way this time. Going out the ventilation shaft might have been the long way, but he didn't want to wait until the crew change to leave. That meant going out through the now-empty labs, instead of the dumpster area. The halls leading to the incinerator would have a spattering of janitorial crews, each person a potential observer. No, it was better to take the time to be cautious. After all, they had all night.  
  
In less time than one might think, he was at the top of the shaft and removing the grill that kept debris and small animals out of the air intake. Ian did a check of the area before climbing out and turning to reset the steel mesh. The wind that whipped around him was from the north and bitterly cold. Nottingham knew that a storm was coming; you could taste it in the air.  
  
He smiled, white teeth flashing in the darkness, and began the run to Moira's apartment. The weather would work in his favor, driving the guards to whatever shelter they could find. Their patrols would probably be lax enough for him to move unchallenged through his entire route.  
  
It never occurred to him that other people might also be taking advantage of the weather until he reached the entrance to Moira's apartment. The door was almost closed, but not quite. The latch had not caught. Nottingham froze, listening for any sound. Only the whistle of wind around the building, the television from the apartment next door, and the faint wail of a baby, coming from the floor above, graced his ears.  
  
Nottingham pushed the door open, staying on the other side of the frame. No shots came through the door, or any weapons from Moira's chemical arsenal. He slid into the living room, booted feet sinking silently into the carpet. From here he could see a light was on in the bathroom, the door open. The kitchen light was on as well, a bottle of water sat open on the counter. That was all, no movement, no voice calling to him.  
  
Then the smell hit him. It was subtle here, just the lightest acridity in the air, the faintest whiff of blood and offal, overlaid with gunpowder. Ian had almost missed it under the much stronger aroma of red wine that was coming from the kitchen. The scent came from the hallway, beckoning him toward the light spilling from the open door of the bathroom.  
  
Cold air followed him down the hall, but Nottingham couldn't bring himself to turn around and close the front door. Not only might he need a speedy exit, but he'd far rather Moira come out and yell at him for heating the outside than be shot in the back if her assailants were still present.  
  
The smell grew stronger the closer he got to the bathroom, strong enough to shriek 'death' to the more primitive aspect of Ian's mind. The reptile that coiled in his basal brain raised an interested head. For once, Nottingham did not try to fight it. He welcomed the heightened awareness that part of him possessed.  
  
Now he could smell two different men, their acid eaten flesh, blood, and the offal from bowels that had relaxed in death. Opposite the door were small furrows where bullets had dug into the wall. The blank area in the left side suggested a body had partially blocked the rain of bullets, but there was no blood on the carpet or wall. Body armor, it had to be, which argued for a strike team.  
  
Now he was very concerned. It would seem that Moira had been right to prepare for an assault. The old phrase 'it's not paranoia if they really are out to get you' crossed Ian's mind as he moved into the bathroom. There were two corpses on the floor; and both carried the mark of Burke's handiwork. Whatever had happened here, he'd missed it.  
  
Ian looked around the room, trying to get a feel for what must have happened. The tub was still filled with water, a few bubbles clinging forlornly to the edge of the porcelain. A blue bath towel hung on the rack. So, at least three men entered the apartment while Moira was in the bath. Not wasting any time on modesty, she gathered whatever defense had been prepared and attacked.  
  
Judging from the angle of the bodies, and the splatter pattern of the acid, Nottingham realized the chance Moira had taken. The assailants had come at her from two directions, pinning her in a potential crossfire. She must have been very afraid to chance an attack from so vulnerable a position. Feeling more and more concerned with each piece of evidence he encountered, Ian stepped around the bodies.  
  
Nottingham padded on toward her bedroom, his nose telling him nothing of import, but wanting to check all the rooms anyway. Ian turned on the light and looked around. There was no sign of a struggle here, nor any evidence to suggest a search. So, Moira was their main focus. That made the possibility that they were after the data from Casca's computer highly unlikely, but did not rule out espionage entirely.  
  
After all, Burke knew a great deal about the project, almost as much as the department heads. She certainly knew everything there was to know about the chemical side of the research, including how to reproduce the formulae used on the test subjects. Those who did not know her might make the mistake of judging her, by reason of gender, to be an easy target. They had learned otherwise tonight.  
  
A quick check showed her window had been jimmied, the screen outside cut. Clearly at least one member of the team had entered this way, with another coming in the front. They had pinned her in the middle, much to their eternal regret. Ian checked again to see if any clothes were missing. It was foolish, as he had no idea what was in her closet on a normal basis, but he looked anyway. Nothing jumped out at him, no large gaps or empty hangers. Had they taken her when she proved to dangerous to deal with on her home turf, or had they planned to abduct Moira all along?  
  
There had to be something he was missing, else why were there no signs of a struggle anywhere else? Why were the kitchen lights on, and the bottle of water sitting on the counter? Maybe it was from earlier? Ian strode back into the kitchen to check his theory and found the bottle was still fairly cold. This didn't make any sense.  
  
He looked back down the hall in perplexity, his eyes stopping at the wall by the bathroom. The pristine section caused everything to click. The third man, the one hit by his teammate. With body armor, being shot at close range was very painful, but not fatal. He must have gotten up and captured Moira while her attention was elsewhere. He also must be the only one left of his team, or he wouldn't have left the others behind, at least not without stripping them of anything that might identify them or their employer.  
  
Nottingham went back into the bathroom and checked the bodies, being careful to avoid the acid pocked areas of the floor as well as the damaged flesh. Diluted by its interaction with the environment, the acid was still strong enough to burn him as well. It was not something he wished to experience.  
  
Ian's search yielded him two things. Firstly, the body armor and weapons were standard German military issue; secondly, one of the men smoked Dutch Masters Cigars. The faint hint of cocoa and tobacco lingered around his shirt pocket. He had missed it the first time under all the other smells, and he didn't know what good it would do him to know it, but he filed it away nonetheless.  
  
He walked back down the hall; eyes alert for any clues Moira may have left him. Nottingham walked back into the kitchen and froze. A knife lay on the white linoleum, it's edge red-brown from drying blood. There wasn't much on it, just enough for a scratch, but the sight caused the dragon to whisper, 'She might be hurt'.  
  
Nottingham opened himself completely to the part of himself that had before seemed so frightening, and now seemed so right. He would hunt the bastard down, and kill him for daring to take his mate. There was nowhere the fool could go that Nottingham could not find him. He smiled, and it was a very unpleasant curling of lips, as he headed out into the bitter night. 


	62. Conflict of Plans

Ch62  
  
Casca was not having a good day. Despite his repeated assurances that subject eight would shortly resurface, his employer was not appeased. In fact, Irons had shown up in person to chew his ass today, no longer content with making his threats about the missing Bronte via phone. Casca had to admit that the icy displeasure was far more brutal, hence efficient, without the buffer of distance.  
  
He had been signed out of the hospital with unnatural speed. The staff had been very solicitous, producing forms and their soon-to-be-former- patient's civilian clothing with barely contained glee. Irons had raised a brow at their behavior, but said nothing.  
  
Casca had been remanded, in theory, to the Vorshlag medical personnel that his employer had so thoughtfully brought with him. In fact he had been given a cursory once over. They had told him that his health was in far more danger of failing if Bronte was not recovered; heart attacks were not the only thing a person could die from. Microcardial angina was a pleasant alternative to most of those things.  
  
He knew the truth of their cautionary statements; the lethal cold radiating from Irons was something Casca had seen before. Just never directed at him. People died when Kenneth's pale blue eyes picked up that grayish tinge. Those eyes had always reminded Casca of the hue the winter sky would take on before a really bad storm.  
  
The look had never before been directed at him, and Casca found he did not relish the experience in the slightest. It had been enough to short out all arguments he had prepared in his defense and leave him mute and shaking. He could only hand over the reports he had been gathering since his relocation to the hospital and hope Irons attention would be diverted away from him.  
  
It had worked, better than he had expected. After shuffling through several pages, he stopped, attention caught by some piece of data. Irons had turned crisply on his heel and walked out of the room, calling for his aide. As he moved away, Casca could hear him giving out orders to assemble the strike team. He wondered what Kenneth had seen in those reports that he had missed, but knew better than to call attention back to him.  
  
Now he was cooling his heels in an underground facility, buried just on the other side of the artillery range. It had probably been constructed during the Cold War, only to be decommissioned and forgotten, once budget cuts began. Or not. The structure could have always been this way, built by Vorshlag Industries for some seemingly innocent enough reason, if you never looked any deeper than the paperwork filed with the county.  
  
Trust Kenneth to have a secret base right next to government property, however he had come by it. Of course, building it undetected, under their noses as it were, would have just been a bonus. How did these Americans say it? Oh yes, gravy. The slang in this country was endless and ever changing, difficult to remember. It was essential to learn though, if one wanted to fit in, however superficially.  
  
Thinking about slang could not long distract him from wondering what was happening. He was also trying to ascertain what his position was. Had it changed? Why was he here, instead of back at the lab, pursuing his work? Casca opened the door to the room he had been examined in, and found it unlocked. So, he was still trusted that far.  
  
He strode down the hall in the direction Irons had gone, pleased to note that there was no security shadow either, but not too pleased yet. Up until this point, there was really no reason to limit his movements. After all, he had been here often enough. There was nothing Casca had not seen before, nor was there any havoc he could wreak in an empty hall or the mostly bare examining room he had come from.  
  
The hall ended with a rather formidable door. Casca typed his password onto the keypad. If his access code still worked, he would know that his future was not as bleak as he feared. After a second that seemed to last an eternity, the light changed to green and the door opened under his hand, revealing the security nexus for the complex. Irons was sitting in one of the swiveling chairs, watching the monitors with interest.  
  
The interior of Burke's apartment held center stage, the other cameras shunted to the smaller workstations. The view of the bathroom was arresting. Two men in black lay with the stillness that meant death, bodies mutilated by some form of acid. The third man was getting up slowly, clutching his chest as if it pained him. Burke was in the kitchen, drinking a bottle of bitter water, unaware of the recovery of the last of her assailants.  
  
He turned from the monitor, wondering why Irons looked so calm. Surely this was a catastrophe? Even if Irons had ignored everything on his reports that did not pertain to Bronte, he had to know of Burke's importance to the chemical side of the research. Much as he hated to admit it, there was a brilliant mind hiding under all that estrogen and black hair.  
  
"Remember, you can not kill the target until she reveals the location of our wayward child." Irons spoke into the microphone with a tone caught between anger and admiration.  
  
A vein began to pound in Casca's temple. That bitch was essential to his plans. Plans that his employer was clearly not aware of, or had forgotten in light of her very efficient defense. Part of him was tempted to remain silent. Burke had been a pain in his ass from day one. Watching her torture and eventual death would please him greatly, but he wanted the project to succeed more than he wanted the gratification. Besides, it would be far more fitting to make her into the thing she hated, and then destroying her.  
  
"I should prefer it did you not kill her at all, as she is carrying Nottingham's child." It was not an outright lie; the two could have gotten together outside his monitoring. Once he got her under lock and key, he could have her inseminated, if he could not convince Nottingham to take care of the situation in a more time-honored fashion.  
  
"What?" Irons spun the seat around, disbelief written across his face.  
  
"Nottingham spurned the Bronte woman to keep himself in Burke's good graces. She does not yet know of her condition, she believes herself to be protected against conception. This did not suit our plans, so I took the liberty of switching her birth control pills a month ago." Casca was careful to emphasize 'our'. It was the little things that could tip the scale back in his favor, such as implying that he had been thinking about Irons when he had made the decision.  
  
"In a few more weeks she might begin to suspect, but most women chalk up lateness to stress and poor diet. I might have had three weeks at the outside before I had to have her picked up. There was to be an accident at the lab, one that would cover up her disappearance quite neatly. I've had it ready to go for weeks." That much was true, Casca had known from the first day that the troublesome doctor might have to be dealt with, and he'd planned accordingly.  
  
Irons swiveled the chair back around and picked up the microphone. "Eagle two, there has been a change of plans. Bring the target back to the Eyre. Make certain she is undamaged."  
  
************************************************************************ 


	63. Hypothermia

BDP63  
  
Moira hunched deeper into her bathrobe, trying to keep it closed against the wind as best she could with her hands bound behind her. The steel handcuffs were cold enough to burn, and Burke hoped she was not going to end up with frostbite. Snow had begun to fall shortly after leaving her apartment; leaving a white dusting over her robe and hair.  
  
At least the bastard had let her pull on a pair of boots before leaving the warmth of the apartment. The idea of trekking through the storm barefoot was enough to temporarily distract her from the blocks of ice her hands were becoming.  
  
Burke was surprised to see the outer edge of the artillery field. Had they come so far already? She didn't have much to do with this side of the base, and tried to think about what exactly was over here. They did live fire training, of that she was certain, but did they have anything else in the field? Moira cursed softly, breaking the silence to ask, "Do you happen to know if there are any mines laying about?"  
  
"As much as I'd like to see you die for what you did to my friends, I will obey my orders. You will reach the Eyre alive. Now shut up." His voice was quiet, so as not to carry, but the anger came through loud and clear.  
  
Moira rolled her eyes, but shut up. There wasn't much she could do with her hands bound and the cold sapping her energy. It was taking more of her resources than she'd like to admit just to pay attention to what was going on around her. The bathrobe had absorbed a fair amount of water from her wet flesh, rendering it even less useful as a barrier against the cold. Hypothermia was not far away, even for someone born in a country that thought eighty degrees was an unbearable heat wave.  
  
She'd been keeping her eyes busy, trying to spot a sentry. There had to be some out there, people weren't allowed to just wander about, but so far they had encountered none. They must all be huddled up in some out of the way place, staying out of the weather. Lazy bastards.  
  
At least they were leaving tracks in the fresh snow; maybe someone would get curious and follow them. It was a long shot, but the only thing Moira had going for her now. She'd shown herself to be too resourceful earlier, now her captor watched her like a hawk.  
  
They continued into the swirling snow, Burke hoping they didn't have far to go. She didn't like her chances if they did. Moira was getting sleepy, and it didn't have all that much to do with the lateness of the hour. The snow looked very soft, like a fluffy down comforter. She thought about lying down and pulling the snow blanket over her head. It was getting harder to remember that if her captor left her where she lay, she would die from exposure.  
  
After an interminable time spent stumbling in the dark, Moira no longer cared. She dropped in a graceless heap into a snow bank and stayed there. Part of her hoped he left her where she lay, Burke knew how far gone she was. She'd been caught out in a blizzard as a child; she'd lost the little toe on her right foot from that adventure.  
  
The experience was not one Moira was looking forward to repeating. The return of sensation, if she lived, was going to be more excruciating than any torture her captor could devise. The comparative sensation told her it was likely that she was going to lose most of her fingers, and several more toes.  
  
Then even those thoughts were chased away by the illusory warmth of hypothermia, and Burke fell into an exhausted slumber.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Eagle Two entered the Eyre, snow whirling about him until the door closed. There was a woman wearing a bathrobe slung over his shoulder, combat boots peeking out from the somewhat ratty hem. He stepped through the security checkpoint, surprised to see the four-man medical team, along with all his superiors waiting.  
  
"Bitch is heavy," Eagle Two grunted to the room at large.  
  
He moved slowly toward the group, the human burden obviously beginning to tax his muscles. When Eagle Two drew even with the medics, he dropped Moira's unconscious form with a certain malicious glee. She hit the floor with a muffled thump, but did not wake.  
  
Two of the doctors knelt and began to examine the black-haired woman. One looked up after a few moments and gestured to the two that had remained standing. "Prep room eleven, she's going to need immediate treatment or we may lose her."  
  
The junior physicians jumped slightly in startlement, but moved off in silent obedience. The one who had not spoken turned his face up toward Irons, his eyes as neutral as he could make them. "She is suffering from advanced hypothermia. I will not give you any assurances that she will survive. It may be prudent to make a placental transfer instead of trying to save the female."  
  
"That procedure is not without it's own risks. Do your best to save the mother, use the transfer only if all else fails." Irons tone was casual, but his posture had stiffened and his eyes were like frosted granite.  
  
"Would someone get these fucking handcuffs off?" the first physician growled, immune to the tension that filled the room, as he tried to chafe the woman's hands.  
  
A guard came forward hesitantly, popping open the small key keeper on his belt. The folding leather kept the fat ring of keys from making unnecessary noise as he made his rounds. The soft metallic clinking of the keys as he unlocked the hand irons shattered the brittle silence.  
  
"Did I not say that I wished her to be undamaged?" Irons voice was cold enough that it seemed to lower the temperature in the room a few more degrees.  
  
"She's in one piece, which I think shows admirable restraint on my part, considering that the rest of my team was melted by acid." Eagle Two was unrepentant over his captive's condition. He did not see the point in mollycoddling the bitch after what she had done. As far as he was concerned, she still owed his fallen brethren a considerable amount of suffering.  
  
"Never, ever, let your personal feelings interfere with your duty to me." Irons stepped forward and shoved a knife into the side gap of Eagle Two's armor, sliding between his ribs and into the heart. "I am not in the habit of rewarding incompetence."  
  
The last member of the Eagle Strike Team dropped to his knees, a choked breath escaping his throat as the blood from the heart wound poured into the lung punctured by the blade's passing. He was dead, but his body hadn't figured it out yet. In a few more seconds he would collapse, and Irons moved on without waiting. The final struggles of a failure obviously did not concern him.  
  
"Clean this mess up." Irons said as he veered around the kneeling form and walked toward the woman who had caused such disruption to his plans.  
  
One of the junior physicians had thought to send a stretcher, manned by two rather burly orderlies. They were lifting Doctor Burke onto the stretcher, calmly ignoring the still-bleeding corpse ten feet to their right, with battlefield aplomb.  
  
Irons halted them as they prepared to wheel her unconscious form out of the room. He held up one hand for silence as the first physician started to object, and got it. Kenneth was aware that Burke needed immediate treatment, but he needed to see the face of the woman that had led his loyal servant astray.  
  
Her skin was the color of new milk, although the faint blue undertones were doubtless brought upon by her condition. The hair that had escaped confinement was as black as a raven's wing, and when he rubbed a lock between his fingers, it was soft as silk. The figure revealed by the disarrayed robe was muscular, but not overly so, more like a cat. Indeed, there was something feline about her face and the boneless way she laid on the gurney.  
  
Burke was very attractive, Irons already knew that from the picture in her file, but he had hoped to see something that the camera had not captured. What had Nottingham observed that he had not? What made this woman worth the risk? Moira Burke was hardly the most beautiful woman Irons had ever seen.  
  
Well, perhaps he would understand better once she had awakened. After all, the élan vital was hard to judge in a person hovering so near to death. Irons stepped back, signaling for the orderlies to continue on their way. He rather hoped Burke would survive, he was looking forward to learning what key she had turned in Nottingham's soul that had led to this moment. Such knowledge could prove useful in the future.  
  
Irons turned to face Casca. The man should have prevented this whole turn of events. He had never been caught unprepared or unaware before. Kenneth looked more closely at his old friend, seeing as if for the first time the lines of age and hair cut short enough to hide the grey.  
  
Was Casca becoming too old for this game? The effect of the passage of time was something Irons never had to consider, and it was such a gradual thing, that sometimes the aging process in others caught him by surprise. Kenneth knew, but had not thought about the fact that it had been better than sixty years since they had first met.  
  
The genetic experimentations done by the Foundation had served Casca in good stead, but he was clearly nearing the end of peak mental acuity. In short, Casca was rapidly outliving his usefulness. Unfortunate really, the man had been as merciless and exacting as he had been loyal.  
  
********************************************************************** 


	64. Worthy Vessel

BDP64  
  
The blowing snow had erased any prints with a swirling white hand. Nottingham looked out over the night, checking for any sign of movement. There was nothing. With a silent prayer for guidance, Ian began to quarter the area, looking for anything out of place.  
  
Nottingham willed his senses to expand, bringing himself to a level of hyperawareness. He could see each flake as it fell, smell the sleeping earth beneath it's frozen blanket, hear the mixed babble from the building. It was not enough. The storm had become violent enough to eradicate any passage markers of his beloved.  
  
He didn't let the lack of clues stop him. He began a search pattern, expanding outward steadily. Somewhere, somehow, in spite of the snow, he would find Moira. As he moved, he came across a familiar scent. It was Matheson, Moira's coworker and personal friend. He had passed this way recently.  
  
The tracks were already filling in from the snowfall, but he could see that they were going the wrong way to be of any help to him. He dismissed the man's passage; too intent on finding Moira to think about what Matheson would find when he arrived at the apartment. Or that he would immediately alert the base authorities.  
  
The first time Ian had to avoid a patrol, he chalked it up to sentries doing their job. But it soon became apparent that the base was being shut down, and search teams were doing the same thing he was.  
  
It wouldn't be long before they sounded General Quarters, and there would be a head count back at the lab, especially since Burke's disappearance was most likely linked to the research she was doing. Knowing he could do no good inside a brig, Nottingham reluctantly abandoned the search and headed back to the lab. He was going to have to trust the military to do its job, even though his instincts were screaming that it wouldn't be enough.  
  
zozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozoz  
  
The two physicians labored over the unconscious woman. Moira Burke was responding much better than they had expected to their treatment. She was still going to lose some toes, the fingers were iffy right now, and the frostbite ringing her wrists was going to be problematic, but she was going to pull through.  
  
Irons watched behind the glass observation panel until her bios stabilized, and he had confirmation that the trauma had not harmed the zygotes. Fortunately, Burke was in her first trimester, so there was little extraneous strain from the pregnancy. It did limit the drugs they could use to keep her sedated, as many crossed the placental barrier and could be harmful to the children.  
  
The state of the mother did not concern Irons overmuch. If she had some additional discomfort during the healing process, so what? Burke's real value was her womb. Her mental and emotional state did not truly concern him, except as a means to manipulate the doctor. It would be delicious if he used her offspring as leverage to get her to work for him. Burke's mind was a resource he would be a fool not to tap.  
  
Speaking of fools, Casca's past performances were overshadowed by his present failings. Irons could not let this go without expressing his displeasure. He turned to Casca, letting his fist fly as he turned. The blow caught Casca across the jaw and sent him sprawling to the floor.  
  
Irons glared down at the prostrate form. "Your weakness has narrowed my options. I find this...vessel," he waved at Moira, "a poor substitute for that which you have lost."  
  
"I lost you nothing!" Casca spat from the ground, "I took advantage of the situation presented to me. Nottingham was obviously smitten with her for some reason, so I managed a DNA test of the good doctor. When I found that she carries several of the same genetic markers as the Bronte subject, I was intrigued. I would say that they are related, however distantly, based on my findings. You will still have a child with the genes you wanted, without having to interbreed the strain so close to the source."  
  
"Yes, yes, I know your concerns on that front, but it was the best option available that I knew of. Where did someone with a surname of Burke come up with these genes? That name does not appear in any of my records of that bloodline."  
  
"Didn't you read her file? Until her grandmother immigrated to Belfast, Burke's family all lived on the Isle of Skye. Her great-great grandmother's maiden name is Sgntheach." Casca stood gingerly, keeping a wary eye on Irons.  
  
"Sgntheach?" Irons paused. He had not bothered to read the good doctor's biography past the section about her strict moral code, clearly a mistake on his part.  
  
If the woman before him was of the Wielder bloodline, however distant, the chance of Nottingham and Burke's offspring being able to utilize the Witchblade were high. Much higher than Casca deserved, especially after his failure to hold on to the only female from the DeAngelo experiment.  
  
Irons narrowed his wintry eyes at the man standing before him. Did his success outweigh his failure? Age was clearly slowing Casca down, making him less useful on the whole. When a simple tool was damaged beyond use, one threw it away. With the more complex tools, it was often more cost effective to recycle them.  
  
Perhaps he should downscale Casca's part in the game? It would be a shame to lose all that knowledge, just because he couldn't keep up in the field anymore. Irons decided to send the aging scientist to the South American lab. He could still serve, just in a different capacity.  
  
Besides, if Casca failed him there, in any capacity, his body would be much easier to dispose of. The jungle was very efficient at consuming organic remains. Mind made up, Irons ordered Casca and Moira moved to the Soledad Facility.  
  
Recognizing the reprieve for what it was, Casca did not argue. He took his reassignment with the best grace he could, not wanting to give Irons any reason to rethink his orders.

A/N: Sorry to keep everyone waiting on this. I'm afraid I was obsessed with getting Two to Tango done. Now that it's complete, look for more frequent updates here. Thank you all for your patience and understanding.-Lassar


	65. Captive

  
  
Nottingham had barely made it back into the lab undetected. As he had suspected, General Quarters was sounded. Everyone scrambled to be in his or her place, making it difficult for him to slip back into the Dragons berth without raising an alarm.  
  
He had spent a long night waiting to hear anything of use, but by the time scuttlebutt reached the restricted areas, it had clearly been elaborated on too the point that the truth was difficult to discern.  
  
Now it was dawn, and the shift had changed, bringing all new tidbits of gossip to dissect. The current version going around was that an elite squad of German mercenaries had infiltrated the base to perform espionage for the Russians, and had kidnapped several scientists and a full bird colonel. Knowing there was no help for it, Nottingham settled down to wait for Weis or Matheson to arrive. He would be able to get better, more accurate information from either of them.  
  
Except, they never showed up. They were closeted, along with the rest of the staff, with whoever was in charge of investigating the incident. For three agonizing days, which he spent snarling like a wounded leopard, the area was under total lockdown. No one came in, no one went out.  
  
When Ian found himself contemplating going out and beating the information out of someone, Mobius was there with a word or touch, and the Dragon receded to sulk in the back of his brain. Slowly, in fits and starts, Nottingham told his brethren what he knew about that night. He couldn't escape the fear that the attack on Moira had happened because of him.  
  
On the fourth day, a much subdued band of scientists filed into the lab. They were tired, but it went deeper than the dark rings under their eyes. It was a weariness of the spirit that spared none, even Ellis was affected, and he had been no friend of Moira's.  
  
Pym looked at the line of Black Dragons and sighed tiredly. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors. Now let me tell you the truth. Four nights ago Doctor Burke was attacked in her quarters. She dispatched two of her assailants, but was captured, tortured, and later executed. Her body was found yesterday."  
  
At this point, Pym had to hold up a hand for silence, as the Dragons began to fire off questions, denial, anger, and fury coloring their voices. "We have no idea what, if any information she gave them before they killed her. As a result, the project will be moved to an as yet undisclosed location. Please pack your effects and be ready for the transfer. It should happen sometime within the week. A closed casket service will be performed at 0900 tomorrow morning. If you would like to attend, please see me this afternoon to make arrangements. That is all."  
  
"She can't be dead," Ian whispered to himself in denial. It was as if the bottom of the world had dropped out from under his feet. He should never have come back in from the storm without her. Moira had needed him, and he had failed her. His head dropped in grief and guilt.  
  
Mobius, standing at his brother's side, laid a supportive hand on his shoulder. He could think of nothing to say, knowing what Burke had meant to Nottingham, so he let his silence speak for him.  
  
Zozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozozoz  
  
Moira woke to the quiet sounds of hospital monitoring equipment. She had vague memories of collapsing in the snow, being carried like a sack of potatoes, and death. It took her a long time to shake the cobwebs from her brain enough to string together a coherent thought. 'Where am I?' She tried to sit up to look around, but it was too much effort. She fell back into the drifting reverie.  
  
Some time later, although how much she could not say, Moira stirred again. This time she was truly awake. She turned her head from side to side, taking in her surroundings. She was in a hospital bed, but it wasn't a hospital. The room was windowless, the door had no handle, and she was tied to the bed.  
  
A cautious shifting of limbs under the restraints showed that everything was working, but hands and feet were both swathed in bandages. Given the shape of the wrappings, Moira knew she had guessed right in the snow. She had lost more toes, and both pinkie fingers appeared to be gone as well. Not pretty, but it could have been worse.  
  
Knowing that being bedridden would take its toll on her muscles, Moira began to tense and relax her legs and arms, doing her best to exercise in the restraints. Eventually they would realize she was awake, or just come to check on her. When they did, she would know just how far up Shit Creek she really was. Until then, she would do what she could to minimize the damage done.  
  
Sure enough, after her exertions elevated her heart rate enough, the door opened. A tall blonde man with icy blue eyes walked in. His suit was a lightweight grey wool, and impeccable. She recognized the cut; all those years living in New York had given her an eye for designers. It was definitely Agassi, and hand tailored.  
  
"Good afternoon Moira. I may call you that, may I not?" His voice was smooth and civil, but she had the feeling he could speak in that tone of voice while stabbing you in the back.  
  
"No, you may not. It's Doctor Burke." Moira was coldly correct. Her voice had the icy courtesy that she had perfected over the years of dealing with over-familiar males in the workplace.  
  
"Ah, but you are about to make me a grandfather, three times over. How can I possibly call you Doctor Burke? It would hardly be fitting," He was so calm and urbane that it took a moment for the statement to sink in.  
  
She was pregnant with triplets, if she understood him correctly. Considering who the father had to be, this would make the blonde Nottingham's father. This was the same man who had mentally and physically abused Ian, and was now going to have access to her offspring. Moira suddenly understood what Ian meant about the time he had attacked Beck, as her own vision clouded over with a red mist.  
  
She strained against the bonds holding her to the bed. She was going to get out of this bed and kill that arrogant bastard. Her whole universe centered on her need to feel his throat collapse under her hands. One restraint snapped, then another, as she drove her will against the straps.  
  
His face paled and he stepped back and to the side as dark haired orderlies spilled into the room. They forced her back down on the bed, someone pressed a needle to her arm, and then darkness began eating into the sides of her vision. As if from the end of a well, she could hear the man talking to another.  
  
"Perhaps you should drop the dosage. She appears to be responding even more quickly than the men did."  
  
"No senor, it is just the pregnancy. Her body is secreting a great deal more hormones, and is naturally out of balance. The injections are giving her more strength yes, but if you want the offspring to have the same abilities as the original subject, we must continue to..."  
  
Then all was blissfully silent.  
  



	66. Something is Rotten

Black Dragons  
  
It had been two months since the funeral, yet Ian could still see the pitiful remains when he closed his eyes. It had been a closed casket funeral, but he had not been able to believe it was real. Nottingham had slipped past his brothers and opened the lid at the gravesite. Just a peek, before Mobius had dragged him back, yet the image was burned into his brain.  
  
Moira must have made them very angry when she killed two of their number. Under the long fall of black hair he could see that the jaw had been crushed, as if from repeated kicks, and the ocular bone had collapsed on the left side. The dress uniform the coroner had put on her had hid all the other damage, but he had seen enough to guess at the rest.  
  
He had heard afterward that if it hadn't been for her dog tags, they might never have identified her, and he believed it. The jaw was crushed and her fingers had been cut off, making identification problematic. Luckily they had found the aluminum tags among the tattered remnants of her clothing several feet away from the body and identified the base.  
  
The thought of what she must have endured before she died tormented him. Even worse, Ian had no way to avenge her. Security was so tight that the most he was able to do was make a call to Irons and request that a team be assigned to investigate from the civilian end. He had been unable to get out himself, and the forced inactivity chafed his honorable soul.  
  
Then entire project had been moved to another state, making it even more difficult for Ian to find Moira's killer. He had hoped that security would lighten up once the move was finalized, but bad luck followed them to their new location. The dropped dosages had affected several members as Moira had warned Ian it might. The enlarged areas of the brain, without the chemical support, began to shrink back down unevenly.  
  
Paranoid delusions, seizures, and incidents of violence became more frequent. The victims of those outbursts were most often lab techs and scientists. The Dragons no longer turned on each other, no matter how far gone they were. They had become a unit in truth, bound by their experiences, emotions, and chemical indicators.  
  
Soon an unspoken line of battle was drawn, with the Black Dragons on one side and the researchers on the other. The suspicion each side regarded the other with increased tension, and led to petty sniping. The Dragons did their best to intimidate the scientists, and the researchers demanded that the Dragons be restrained before, during, and immediately following their treatments. They wanted M.P.s present at all times, and the Brass agreed after the reports began to roll in. It was more of an armed camp than a research project.  
  
The bridge between the two factions came in the unlikely form of Father Allen. Hearing the confessions of both sides gave him a unique perspective, which he used to the best of his abilities to smooth the way between the two parties. He did what he could, but the Dragons were not stable enough any more to adhere to his advice. They tried for a while, but they were so sensitive to signals that no one else even noticed that instinct would override intellect, and another incident would happen.  
  
Nottingham was an irritable shadow of his former even-tempered self, brooding and wracked with guilt. He did not sleep much; Moira haunted his dreams. Yet of all the Dragons he was, oddly enough, the most stable. His brain chemistry did not change, remaining at the same level, despite the lesser dosages.  
  
Taking Nottingham's relatively more relaxed behavior as an indicator, the dosage was stepped back up in an effort to level out the brain activity of the other Dragons. It worked to a certain extent, but the damage had been done. Even though the incidences of seizures and violence decreased, paranoia remained on both sides. Perhaps it was inevitable, considering the nature of the experiment, but it didn't make the situation any easier for those involved.  
  
It was with great relief that Pym called everyone together on the third day of the third month to announce that the Black Dragons were going on their first field-training mission. It was the ideal solution for everyone involved, as well as being an opportunity to stave off budget cuts. After all, it was nearly time for the quarterly expenditure wrangling with the exchequer, and that would go better if they had something to show for all the money being poured into the project.  
  
Or so he said, whenever he was asked. But for someone who had been handed an ideal solution, his eyes were surprisingly haunted.  
  
The mood in the bay was jubilant. Finally they would be allowed out into the field. Giddy as though they were already breathing the heady air of freedom, the Black Dragons celebrated. Even Nottingham came out of his funk enough to smile at his brothers' antics.  
  
Well after 'lights out', the men traded speculations on the training mission as well as bragging about their prowess. It seemed that no one could calm down enough to sleep. For once Ian had plenty of company during the dark hours that normally haunted him with reminders of Moira. He drifted off to sleep, the comforting murmur of his brothers around him.  
  
Sgt. Leamon, whom they had not seen since their first day in the lab, arrived the following morning with their mission briefs. It would appear that they were going to South America. The D.E.A. had taken out a high- level drug lord in Columbia, and the Dragons were going to be using the abandoned site for a training simulation.  
  
It was perfect for everyone involved. The site was exactly the sort of thing they were going to be hitting once their training was complete, it was isolated, so civilian casualty would be non-existent, and all the traffic would discourage anyone from thinking to reactivate the facility.  
  
Maybe it was a little too perfect. Nottingham reread his file, trying to get a feel for what wasn't being said. On his left, Mobius was doing the same. They exchanged a glance over the folders; both had little inclination to trust their superiors at this point. The feeling was partly from the chemically induced paranoia, but mostly from prior experience. There was a very good reason that 'military intelligence' was held by most soldiers to be an oxymoron.  
  
Even with both looking, neither could find anything to answer the nagging suspicion that something was not right. Mobius and Nottingham took turns asking questions, but Leamon's explanations jived with the paperwork. They were getting nowhere. Finally Ian made a subtle gesture with his hand, letting Moby know he would pursue this later, from a different angle.  
  
During rounds on the obstacle course, the Dragons discussed their mission brief. The general consensus was that something was rotten in Denmark, but no one was exactly sure where the smell was coming from. They finally decided that they would present one battle plan to their superiors, and enact another, based on what their own reconnaissance uncovered once they arrived.  
  
The only thing they could not get around was the fact that, as a training exercise, no live rounds would be issued. If the worst-case scenario happened, they would have only their survival knives against the dangers of the jungle. The Dragons were not particularly concerned about the wildlife, it was the locals that were sure to deem them hostiles, and with good reason. If someone had moved in to fill the void left by the deceased drug lord, they would not take kindly to finding a bunch of American soldiers mucking about in their business.  
  
They drilled mercilessly, knowing they had only two weeks before they would be sent out into the field. Already impressive, the self-imposed step up in training elevated the Dragons to amazing. When the time came to ship out, the Dragons were confident they could compensate for whatever SNAFU they would walk into.  
  
A/N: SNAFU: Situation Normal, All Fucked Up 


	67. Plans and Pregnancy

BDP  
  
The two guards at the door did not stand at attention, but that did not mean they were not aware. Burke had learned not to be taken in by their seeming inattention, after her first failed escape attempt. The first of several, unfortunately, foiled plans. Moira had been working against the clock, and didn't have time to plan, as she would have liked, taking instead each chance offered. For she knew that once she was far enough along in her pregnancy, escape would be impossible. After she gave birth they had already told her they would take the children from her.  
  
The surge of maternal fury that roiled up through her when Casca had informed her of that fact had surprised her. Moira had never considered herself to be 'Mommy material', and yet the idea of losing her offspring was not acceptable. The feeling was, at least in part, a side effect of the injections they had been giving her. The treatments had changed other things as well, including her speed. As fast as she was becoming, she'd actually managed to break Casca's nose before the orderlies could subdue her.  
  
Moira knew far too much about the project not to understand what was being done to her, and by extension the children. That was the reason for the drugs; they were passing the placental barrier and affecting their development. The fact that she was changing was considered to be an unfortunate side effect.  
  
It certainly made her harder to contain. The third time Burke had escaped, she had nearly made the perimeter thanks to her increased speed and heightened senses. She was getting smarter too. It was arrogant perhaps, to consider one's self highly intelligent, but she knew she always had been. Now it was like some door had opened inside her head, and she was using parts of her mind that had never been accessible before.  
  
"Doctor Burke, it is time," a softly accented voice interrupted her thoughts.  
  
Had Casca left for the day or was it time for her injections? Burke put down the book she had been pretending to read. A glance at the clock on the wall told her it was too soon for her next shot, so Casca must have made another early day of it.  
  
He had been doing that a lot lately. Casca had taken his banishment with ill grace, showing none of the attention and commitment from before. He came in late, left early, and took his anger out on everyone who crossed his path in between.  
  
There was gossip that Casca spent his off time drinking in the village. At first Moira had not believed it, the man was too calculating for such a thing, but she had come to revise her opinion. The smell of alcohol sweating out a person's pores was hard to miss in this climate.  
  
"Thank you Doctor Vargas." Burke looked up at the thin Peruvian doctor who was waiting at the door.  
  
His spectacles had fallen down his nose again, and he was pushing them up with a hand that would have done a concert pianist proud, so long and fine were the fingers. His family was renown for it's weavers, and it was easy to see why. His hair was long, tied back at his neck, and the glossy blue/black that was so prevalent among the employees at the compound.  
  
"How are you feeling today?" Vargas smiled with genuine warmth.  
  
"Unwieldy and irritable with it." Moira pushed out of her chair with less grace than she would have liked and walked to the door.  
  
At least her new cell was relatively comfortable. The room was furnished more like a studio apartment than a prison; it just didn't have any windows. Burke was glad they had made concessions for her advancing pregnancy. She couldn't imagine getting in and out of those atrocious plastic bowl chairs from her first cell these days.  
  
"Well, you are carrying triplets my dear. Best you get used to the change in your center of gravity. It's not going to get better any time soon. My wife made you a brace for your back. She says it will help, and I am thinking it best to agree with her, being a lowly man." Doctor Vargas smiled self-depreciatingly. His wife ruled the house with an iron fist, and he didn't care who knew it.  
  
Dangling from the hand he had just pulled out from behind his back was a strange vest. It had a black background and was cross woven with brilliant greens, yellows, and blues that had been stitched to a heavy cotton canvas. Where each seam would be, there were grommets with black cords.  
  
Moira took it from his hands, ignoring the frowns of the guards. After a few moments of fumbling, she realized it was the local version of a pregnancy corset. There were strips of something stiff yet flexible between the two fabrics. She laced into it, admiring the craftsmanship and thought that had gone into its construction. It made an immediate difference, and she sighed with relief.  
  
"Tell your wife I thank her, from the bottom of my heart." Moira paused with a grin, "And the small of my back."  
  
"You are most welcome," Vargas gave an answering grin.  
  
"So did you get those C.A.T. scans developed? I would be very interested to see just how much activity we're seeing in the neocortex after this latest series of injections." Burke asked casually, just another scientist talking shop. Never mind that it was her own brain that was under discussion.  
  
Whenever Casca was absent from her sessions in the main lab, Moira gave her thoughts and theories to the other researchers. After all, this was her body they were fooling with. It behooved her to take an active interest. The scientists never gave her credit for the ideas or data charts they had chosen to pursue, by unspoken agreement. Casca would never have agreed to the changes in the program if he had known whom they came from.  
  
He would not have trusted Moira's data, and with good reason. Burke definitely had her own agenda. Now four months pregnant with triplets, Moira's jail breaking days were over. She couldn't see her few remaining toes, her center of gravity had shifted, her appetite was through the roof, and running anywhere was out of the question. So she had come up with another, slower, way.  
  
"Yes we did. The results are very promising. I am a little concerned, however, about this proposed subliminal combat training for the unborn children." Vargas had a big family, which made it uncomfortably easy for him to project his feelings into the changes made in the project.  
  
It had been easier for him back when it had been simian test subjects only. The locals ate monkeys, after all. It's hard to feel sorry for your food. Children were another matter entirely, and he never seemed quite comfortable with what they were doing.  
  
Add to that the fact that Vargas had been the department head until Casca's transfer, and he was only a hairsbreadth away from mutiny. All it would take would be a hard shove at the right time. Moira intended to be the one pushing, when the opportune moment showed itself.  
  
"I agree. Perhaps we should push for educational training first. Point out that tactics and planning win out over brute strength every time. Casca should go for it if you put it that way. We can sneak in computer skills under the guise of espionage. No children of mine are going to grow up to be mindless grunts." Moira said softly but firmly.  
  
"I know what you mean. Paolo is forever talking about joining the military, and my wife will hear none of it either." Vargas grinned and shook his head.  
  
"How can any mother blame her? You spend years watching out for them, taking care of them, sacrificing for them, and then they want to run out into danger." Moira shook her head before adding with loving disgust as they walked through the doors to the lab, "Kids."  
  
"Are you talking about Paolo again?" one of the other researchers looked up from his microscope.  
  
"Well, the rascal does lend himself rather handily to conversation," Moira replied as Vargas rolled his eyes.  
  
"That boy will be the death of me. He will join the military despite anything I say, and then my wife will kill me for it." Vargas threw his hands in the air as if saying 'what can I do?'  
  
All present broke out into laughter before converging on the two with their findings.  
  
Doctor Burke was forming more ties with the other scientists each day she was in the lab. Sharing her insights and ideas was only the first part. She also told them bits and pieces of her past, just enough to intrigue them and show her as a fellow researcher and person.  
  
Slowly she was becoming one of them, her intelligence a welcome addition, while Casca remained hated and feared, as he had at her lab. Here he was still an outsider, and she was not. Such a distinction would eventually bear fruit, and she had time now to wait.  
  
In the meantime, the injections were making her stronger, faster, and smarter. After the subliminal training that she would make sure she was part of, she would have the keys to escape. By the time her children were born, Moira wanted to be able to protect them. No matter what. Which meant leaving this research facility and disappearing to somewhere that the four of them could never be found.  
  



	68. Crisis of Conscience

  
  
Crisis of conscience

.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession." Weis sat down in the chair beside Father Allen.  
  
"And here I was, thinking that since I had not heard from you, you were staying out of trouble." Allen shook his head with mock sorrow.  
  
Weis had become a frequent visitor since the lab had been moved, but not because he was perpetually sinning. His two best friends had been Matheson, who took a transfer, and Burke, who had been killed. He came mostly for companionship, for someone to talk to that he didn't have to watch what he said.  
  
"To err is human, to forgive is Divine. I'm just keeping up my end." The scientist shrugged. Although his voice was light, his eyes were dark with the sadness that appeared from time to time. He had yet to speak of it, and Father Allen was waiting patiently for the day that he would.  
  
"So where would you like to start?" The priest leaned back in his chair, hoping that today Weis would finally talk about what was bothering him.  
  
"It's no secret that I have ambition. I've managed to work my way into a better position than I came in with, and I'm angling for a promotion. I don't rock the boat, that was always Burke." Weis paused, sucking in a breath as though the memory of her hurt him. "But I've learned something disturbing. I'm not sure I can keep quiet about it, and yet it would be career suicide to say anything to the wrong people. I have no idea how far up the chain this was approved."  
  
"Then talk to me. Anything said during Confession is sacrosanct. I will not reveal your secrets."  
  
"I don't know if I should put your life at risk, just for temporary peace of mind. The trade seems a bit uneven." Weis ran both hands through his spiky blonde hair.  
  
"Why should my life be in danger?" Allen tensed, but did not change his posture, hoping the relaxed pose would provoke Weis into saying more.  
  
"They've already killed Burke, and they're planning eleven more deaths, why would they stop at a priest?" Weis looked up; hands still on his head, and the blue eyes were deadly serious.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Did it ever strike you as strange that Burke, brilliant though she was, was the target of a counterintelligence strike? The kind of thing, I feel I must remind you, that has not happened since the Cold War? Hmm?" His brows arched in question.  
  
"Well yes, but I am hardly in a position to know how often such a thing occurs. I just assumed from the way everyone was acting that it happened sometimes." Allen shrugged his broad shoulders. While he was sorry she had died, he had not known her well enough to take her death so personally.  
  
"No, it doesn't. I think a special team went in to shut Burke up. She was making too many waves, and people higher up on the food chain were not pleased."  
  
"You don't know that for certain." Father Allen sat up straight, abandoning his relaxed posture.  
  
"Not for certain, no. But the fact remains that Burke knew too much, and had a conscience about it. It's not a healthy combination, especially not in the line of work we're in. I'd warned her before, the first time I got wind that something was up, but she didn't listen. I should have made her listen." The guilt in his voice was thick enough to walk on.  
  
"Did you tell her everything you knew?" Allen laid a hand on the smaller man's shoulder.  
  
"Yes." Weis said sharply.  
  
"And she continued on her course regardless of what you said to her?" the Father's voice was very gentle.  
  
"Of course." His blue eyes were bright with indignation.  
  
"Then what else could you have done?" Father Allen asked in that same soft voice, so at odds with his huge frame.  
  
"Hell, I don't know. But I can't shake the feeling that if I'd said or done something different... Burke would still be alive." Weis buried his face in his hands again.  
  
"I understand what you mean. I too have had my days of doubt, where I heaped recrimination so heavy on my head that it was a wonder I could lift it, but you cannot change the past. You can only learn from it." Allen closed his eyes for a moment, the ghosts of his past crowding close.  
  
"You're right. I should learn by Burke's example. Thank you Father. This has been a most enlightening conversation." Weis pushed his chair back so suddenly that the metal legs screeched across the tile floor.  
  
"That's what I'm here for." The Father looked up, not convinced that Weis was 'all better', but knowing that they had gone as far today as they were going to.  
  
It wasn't until after Weis left that Allen remembered what he had said about eleven more deaths. Was he talking about the Black Dragons? There were eleven of them, and they were about to go on a 'training mission' in a foreign country. Disturbed by the ramifications, Father Allen stared blankly at the wall.  
  
After several hours of thoughtful prayer, Allen headed out of his little office to do the only other thing he could. He was going along for the ride. At best having a priest along for the mission would be a deterrent to whatever was planned. At worst, well, he'd learned to survive in far deadlier jungles than the one the Dragons were headed for. His experience might get them out alive too. 

o

Author's note: TimmyS, I will work on Dark Wings this weekend and have it off to my webmistress to post. Check or the NC17 section of WBConnections on Monday or Tuesday. The update will probably show up first at Connections, as Wolfie has to put up what I send to her, I can't post it to our site direct. (which is probably for the best, I and the Dreamweaver Program do not get along well)


	69. Candy From a Baby

BDP68

The only way to get to the drop point was by helicopter, so the last leg of the journey was made in a chopper. Father Allen watched the jungle fly by the open doors of the helicopter, thankful for the wind. Even though it brought the familiar smell of rotting vegetation carried on air heavy with moisture, it was better than the troop transport plane they had ridden in coming over. The plane had smelled of metal and old boots, and was almost old enough to have carried him to Vietnam.

The sound of the rotor blades, the tight press of bodies, and the vibrant green below reminded Allen of his last drop. The insertion point came into view. Years melted away as he descended into the clearing cut by the river. Unfortunately, they all came back with a rush as his feet hit the ground. His joints groaned in protest, but he straightened and moved back into the shelter of the jungle. Only an idiot greenie stood around without cover, and he hadn't been that in longer than some of these boys had been alive.

At least Allen didn't have to remind any of them, the Black Dragons faded back into the woods like the professionals they were. The group moved back, wanting to get away from the drop point. As rehearsed, they began to move in a beeline for their target, only to veer sharply to the right after a mile. It would lengthen their travel time, but the Dragons had agreed that their superiors could not be trusted. A little extra walking would not kill them, but having too much faith in others could.

Mobius let them keep their current vector for an hour, checking the compass on his watch periodically. It would be easy to lose all sense of direction here under the canopy, where the light was diffused and there were no landmarks. It was just jungle, and more jungle.

Finally he judged they had gone far enough, and brought them back in a westerly heading. They should be near the perimeter of their target in the next two hours. With that in mind, Moby signaled to Nottingham and Lee to scout ahead.

Ian smiled wolfishly, and slipped away from his brothers. Lee took a point equidistant and to the left from him. Each could catch glimpses of the other out of the corner of their eyes, which was as it should be. It would not do to be so close together that the detection of one would also expose the other.

Nottingham moved with speed and stealth through the vegetation, eyes alert for anything. The smell of moist earth and growing things had become familiar over the past few hours, and he could now better discern individual scents along the air. A jaguar had rested in the tree he had just passed, the acidic musk as obvious to his enhanced senses as the quiet rustling of the snake moving out of his path.

The primal surroundings spoke to something equally elemental in Ian. He forgot that it was just a training exercise, and that their guns held only blanks. Nottingham moved through the jungle, feeling every bit the predator that he was. His prey was just ahead somewhere, and before the night was over, they would fall to his skill.

When the wind brought the stink of metal and man, Nottingham slowed and flashed a signal to Lee. They spread further apart and moved with even greater caution. The two ghosted forward, senses alert. They knew they were very close.

The ground ahead of them suddenly stopped. They were at the edge of one of the sharp drops of stone that were so prevalent in the area. Nottingham and Lee dropped to their bellies and crawled to the edge of the ledge. Pushing aside a clump of sawgrass, Nottingham looked out upon an enclave.

They were above the thick concrete walls, which gave Nottingham an excellent vantage down into the enclave. He raised his binoculars to his face, counting guards. There were two men to each of the four corner turrets, armed with high powered rifles, six men at various points on the grounds, and four at the open gate.

The men on the wall turrets lounged with ease, watching the jungle around them with casual disinterest. The men on the ground weren't any better, mostly talking among themselves. There was only one gate, and those guards at least were facing the right direction. It would look pretty bad if someone managed to drive up that dirt road and surprise them.

Ian grinned. These fools were clearly used to the isolation and concrete barriers doing their work for them. Eighteen-foot walls with a layer of concertina wire on top might discourage the local predators, but to a Dragon, they were as easy. The obstacle course they ran almost daily was more difficult, honestly.

Maybe tomorrow the guards would be more alert; since that was the day the Black Dragons had indicated they would actually make it through the forest and do their reconnoiter. Wasn't it naughty of them to lie about their timetable to their superiors?

Speaking of recon, he'd better get to it. Mobius would expect a full report when they returned. Nottingham looked over the wall and surrounding area for sensor plates, but found none. How trusting of them. Idiots. Not that he should be complaining that security was not up to Vorshlag standards. It made his job easier if it wasn't.

Refocusing the binoculars, Nottingham looked in as many windows as he could, trying to see if the layout matched the intelligence they had been given. Surprisingly enough, it did. Supposedly the 'hostage' they were to rescue was in the middle of the central building. So far it looked straightforward enough. They could go over the back wall, sneak into the main building, 'rescue' the hostage, and be gone before dawn.

Nottingham took a last look around, fixing in his mind where they would need to come out of the woods so they would be at the rear of the complex. That done he eased back from the ledge and waited for Lee to follow. They would meet back up with Mobius, discuss what they had learned, and wait for the cover of night to attack.

This was going to be like taking candy from a baby.

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Moira had been sleeping soundly, the demands pregnancy made on her body leaving her exhausted by the day's end, when the very distinctive sound of gunfire pulled her awake. Burke opened one eye, just a slit, and examined her guards. The two were facing away from her, but she could see the tension in the set of their shoulders and the way they gripped their rifles.

Not knowing exactly where in South America she was, Moira had to wonder if this was some kind of military coup, with the research facility about to be overrun by guerrilla fighters. Well, if that was the case, she was not going to be sitting here in her pajamas when the opportunity for escape came.

For escape it would certainly be. Burke was not naïve enough to believe that whoever was attacking the lab would 'save' her. Unless that meant saving her for dessert, which was not a comforting thought in the least. She could not depend on her pregnancy to protect her from male attention, that much she knew well enough. But lust was a double-edged weapon. A man thinking of fucking was a man not thinking about killing, and that hesitation was all Burke needed to get in the first, and hopefully deadly, shot.

While that would seem to argue for staying in sleepwear, Moira had no intention of running into the jungle so scantily clad. There were far too many biting insects and sharp edged grasses, not to mention how starkly her pale skin would stand out in the darkness. Burke padded to her closet on bare feet, her hands reaching for clothing automatically, her eyes watching the guards.

They were ignoring her, for which Moira was very glad. Oh, not that she was worried about them seeing her naked, she was hardly modest these days. But if their attention were elsewhere, they wouldn't notice her bundling extra clothing together, among other things.

Moira had planned ahead, insisting that there be food in her room at all times, as she was always hungry. Some of it she really did eat, but the non-perishables had been carefully held back for just such an opportunity. Those went into the blanket as well, any clanking largely muffled by the spare clothes.

Next came the pregnancy corset. Besides being precious support for her back, the stiffeners had turned out to be long strips of steel with a thin coating of some kind of latex, most likely to prevent rusting. Moira had taken two out in the bathroom and, under the cover of morning sickness noises, scraped the coating on one side off against the metal siding on the shower door.

The edge had proven to be fairly sharp without the latex, which was good, as Burke had no way to grind the metal. It wasn't an F-S fighting knife, but it was far better than nothing. In fact, the very whippy steel had potential. Moira had worked out a few moves, targeting imaginary eyes or throats; until she was satisfied that she understood the range of her makeshift blades. A little more practice, and she could strike two targets simultaneously.

Although Burke took them out periodically to drill with, the strips always went back into the seams, point down of course. There was no place in her room to hide the weapons that they would not be found. Having the shank-like blades constantly on or around her person kept them safe from detection, as well as being ready to use, should the opportunity present itself. Which it just had.

Moira sidled up to the bars of her cell, a nine-inch strip of metal in each hand. When she was in position, Burke asked in a loud but casual voice, "So what's going on?"

Both men jumped slightly at the unexpected question and turned, probably to tell her to shut up. Instead they were both silenced as thin steel blades were shoved through their eye sockets and into the brain behind. Burke twisted her wrists and jerked the metal back out, doing even more damage on the exit. It was unlikely that the vicious little twist mattered, the initial thrust should have killed them, but Moira liked to be thorough.

The two dropped, falling forward against the door. With no time to be graceful about it, Burke dropped her shivs and grabbed for the guard who carried the keys to her cell. Ignoring the fluids oozing from his ruined eye, Moira held the dead man against the bars while her other hand scrabbled over his belt. Finally her searching fingers touched metal, and she jerked the keys free and shoved the corpse backward, not wanting the door blocked by his bulk.

Opening the lock was a little awkward from the inside, especially with the last two fingers of both hands lost to frostbite, but not terribly difficult. Door open, Moira pocketed the keys and turned around to pick up her makeshift blades. While bending over to search the bodies, she wiped the shivs clean and slid them back into the corset. Her search yielded two spare clips of ammunition for the guns, three packs of cigarettes, sixty pesos, and about a pound of gold jewelry. Knowing she would need to barter at some point, Burke took the gold and cigarettes as well as the weapons and money.

The guards had been in shape, so the only way to get the gun belts around Moira's expanding form was crosswise, like bandoliers. A grin spread across her face as she imagined how she must look. "The Bannock Bandito rides again."

Burke sauntered down the hall, resisting the urge to run. Whoever was in the security monitoring room was probably paying attention to the perimeter only. Anything moving fast might redirect his gaze, which lessened her chances of making it out undetected. For the same reason, she kept her arms down and let them swing normally, even though each hand was wrapped around a gun.

All that careful planning turned out to be for nothing. As Moira turned the corner, Casca was waiting for her. He gave that cold, predatory grimace that, for him, passed as a smile. "Why hello again, herr doktor. Going somewhere?"

"Well, for some reason I'm craving Chinese food. I thought I'd just go grab some takeaway." Burke said flippantly and began raising her hands, ready to drop him where he stood. Before she could complete the motion, six guards stepped into the junction point.

"Ah, ah, ah," Casca shook his finger admonishingly. "Why don't you drop your weapons and come with us. That way, ve can all greet your friends together. I do so want to see Nottingham's face when he realizes you are alive."

"What?" Moira froze, her mind racing. It was possible that she could take out the guards before they could incapacitate her. After all, they were under orders not to damage the children she was carrying. Burke had no such constraints, but she had been caught by the idea that Ian was here.

"Oh yes, he and the other test subjects are trying as hard to get in as you are to get out. Ironic isn't it? Very soon now, they'll be exactly where we want them."


	70. BOHICA

BDP

Getting over the wall had been easy. They probably could have gotten Father Allen in without notice as well, but he had opted to stay behind to keep their path back out clear of interference. At the time it didn't look like they would need him to do so, but it had been a tactically sound decision. After all, the rules changed in combat very quickly.

Their current position certainly illustrated that truth quite well. They had made it to the central building undetected, but once they crossed the threshold, everything changed. Here the guards were more alert, the monitoring devices more plentiful than had been indicated on the intelligence report.

Ok, that happened. Intelligence reports were notoriously full of holes, if not downright false information. The training seminar ought to replicate field situations as closely as possible. No problem. Mobius dropped one of the guards from behind, and as the man fell, his automatic fired into the wall. The resulting chew marks in the wall were not from blanks.

With a muffled curse the unconscious man was searched. The automatic and the pistol on his hip both held live rounds. There were no blanks on his person anywhere. The Dragons exchanged looks of anger over the unconscious guard. Their instincts had been right; they were being fucked.

Taking the weapons and the extra rounds, the Dragons fanned out, covering both directions, knowing the short burst would bring anyone within earshot. They waited patiently for five minutes, but no one came. Either no one had heard, or more likely, they had orders to hold their positions.

Hand signals flew fast and furious as the Black Dragons debated their course of action. Should they leave now, while they still could? The live ammo put a very different spin on the situation. Most were for bugging out, but not all.

Nottingham made a gesture for attention, pulling all eyes to his. Breaking the silence with a harsh and intense whisper, Ian voiced his concerns. "We should not leave without information or supplies. If we depart now we will have neither. I think we can all agree that our government intended for us to die here."

Nottingham paused as the others nodded their agreement of his assessment, "There will hardly be a pick-up scheduled for us, unless it's there to mop up any survivors who escape this place. We will need provisions, transportation, and reliable maps of the terrain. The only place we can be certain to acquire these things is here."

"I agree. Lee, Reese, double back and secure the entrance. Taurins, Niccoli, Beck, you three take the generators offline. Hunting in the dark will bother them a great deal more than it will us." Mobius curled his lips up in a predatory grin.

"What do you want us to do about the guards we come across?" Beck asked casually.

"Give them the fate they intended for us. Strike without mercy. Once we have secured the compound, we can strip it of anything useful, get to a safe distance, and decide how to deal with those who have betrayed us." Mobius met the eyes of his men, the promise of vengeance stark on his face.

"Should we assume that our original target is here? There is every chance that the situation they sent us into is as real as the heat these guys are packing." Rook raised a brow at Moby.

"Hmmm, that I cannot say. We will have to sweep that area anyway, so why don't you and Nottingham take that side. Be alert for possible prisoners. Everyone else come with me. We'll take the area marked as living quarters first, and move through the common area."

Splitting up into several smaller groups would give them a bit of flexibility, and make it hard for the enemy to capture or eliminate them all. In narrow confines like this, it wasn't as if a great deal of firepower could be brought to bear anyway. Their best bet was to move in ones and twos in silence, to come upon their foes unaware, kill them, and move on to the next. Mobius didn't have to tell his men to use knives or hand to hand unless there was no other option, they all knew that gunfire would give away their position.

"Switch to channel 3 on the radios, as I am going to assume that they are monitoring the standard channel. They might not think to check the other frequencies. Even so, only use the radio to report an area secure, or to ask for assistance. Go." Mobius said, and the four teams separated.

Rook and Nottingham moved silently, every sense alert. The two Dragons encountered no resistance as they stalked down sterile white hallways. The very lack of guards made them wonder if perhaps the 'prisoner to liberate' had been another hoax.

Once they made it to the section that was supposed to house the captive they were to liberate, it became clear that the situation was different than they had begun to believe. Two guards lay dead, cause of death readily apparent in the ruined eye sockets. Someone had stabbed them at close range and escaped. The warmth of the bodies put their demise at sometime in the last ten minutes.

"Well, that explains where all the guards are for this sector, they're out chasing the prisoner. Looks like the bastards got shivved, which argues for a Spec 4 to be down here somewhere." Rook signed to Nottingham.

Ian nodded and signaled for him to watch while he examined the cell. He pushed through the half-open bars and stopped. There was something... familiar. A faint trace of scent teased at his memory, but he could not place it. The room was much more comfortable than any cell he'd ever seen. The prisoner, whoever they had been, had obviously been of some importance to have so many accommodations.

Most notably of these was the enclosed bathroom, which he was going to have to check. The door was ajar, and he could see the edge of a small sink and a cube shower. Moving carefully into the tiny room, Nottingham looked behind the door and then inside the shower. He noticed there were toiletry items inside, another mark of special treatment. The shampoo and shower gel were floral, which caused him to raise a brow.

On his way back out, he paused by the bed and sniffed the pillow. The scent he found so familiar was stronger here, but it was partially masked by the floral aroma of the bath products. Who on Earth could possibly be imprisoned here that he would know well enough to recognize their scent, but not well enough to know who they were?

Frustrated, Nottingham rejoined Rook in the hallway. The two shared a look and Ian signaled for them to continue down the hall. When they caught up with the escapee, all their questions would be answered. Loitering around here was telling them nothing.


	71. Promises Made

BDP

Promises Made

Moira could hardly believe what she was hearing. Casca must really be slipping to think that a bunch of locals were any match for the Black Dragons. Regular troops could chew through his security in rather short order. Hell, even being pregnant she'd almost evaded them on several occasions. The Dragons, with their biological enhancements, would find them even less of a challenge.

Accurately interpreting Burke's look, Casca pointed to the guns, "The test subjects were not given live ammunition. They are shooting blanks, in more than one sense." He laughed; a cold superior little chuckle that made Burke want to choke him.

"Well, not all of them, or we wouldn't be having this little conversation." Moira gritted her teeth, promising herself that the loathsome excuse for a man was not going to live out the day.

"I misspoke; my apologies. There was one exception to the rule, although I don't know how you ended up pregnant. None of the other women did. Must be that Irish fecundity," Casca was still smiling, believing he had the upper hand. He had Burke back in hand, and the Black Dragons were coming to him just like clockwork. It looked like everything was going his way.

"It has gotten my ancestors into trouble upon occasion." Moira agreed, wheels spinning in her head. So, they didn't know about the abortificant. Hmmm, that was very interesting. Since she was carrying the only viable offspring of that project, and they thought the others were clinically sterile, they most likely had orders not to shoot her. Even if they decided to disobey orders, they would shoot to wound only.

The smile that crossed Burke's face was gleefully malicious as she snapped her wrists up and fired. The two guards nearest to her dropped, and her hands flexed outward to fire again. This time there was no regret as she attacked, no surge of fear, only cold predatory intent. They were all going to die.

Casca, ever the survivor, flung himself back around the corner and out of the line of fire. The remaining two guards dropped to the floor to present a smaller target, and fired their tranquilizer darts. The first guard was too nervous, too hasty, and his shot went wide. The second was made of sterner stuff. He held perfectly still as he aimed and fired, ignoring the blood and screams of his fellow warriors.

"Fuck," Moira hissed as a dart buried itself in her thigh.

Not knowing how much time she had, Burke just dropped the barrels low and started firing. The two men rolled, trying to get away from her fire, but she followed them, bullets kicking up exploded bits of tile as she tracked their movement. The one on the right wasn't fast enough. A bullet caught him high on the spine and he screamed. His partner didn't stop to check on him, rolling behind the corner, leaving the other man to his fate. Coward.

Moira meant to walk over to him and find out what he knew before he passed into shock or died, but her legs wouldn't work. She slumped against the wall, trying to brace against it so she could move forward. It was like walking through tar. With a muffled curse, Burke fired at the end of the hall. If anyone was lingering behind the corner, it should give the bastards pause.

Burke fought off the drug-induced somnolence as hard as she could, but there was only so much that will alone was able to achieve. Her clothes made soft hissing sounds as she slid down the wall. The last thing she heard was the slap of boots on tile, but it seemed to be coming from behind her. That couldn't be right, could it? Moira tried to turn back the way she had come, but was asleep before the idea could become action.

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Nottingham froze as the sound of gunfire echoed down the hall. He exchanged glances with Rook. Ian made the sign for 'proceed with caution' before continuing. There were multiple shots fired from an area that the Dragons had not yet moved into, which could only mean one thing. The escaped prisoner had just run into resistance.

The two Dragons moved steadily forward, cautious despite their curiosity. Who had been in that cell, and why? The shooting stopped; the silence sudden and almost as deafening as the sounds of gunfire in such a narrow space.

Just ahead the corridor took a turn. The lack of sound did not mean the space ahead would be abandoned. In fact, it could be set up as an ambush point. What if the shooting had stopped because the escapee had fallen afoul of a trap?

Rook looked up with a question in his eyes and signed, 'Leapfrog', asking if Nottingham wanted them to advance by turns.

Ian nodded and went first. He came around the corner low, rolling to make a harder target of himself, but there was no response. The spinning view he had of the hallway was one of blood and the dying. No one remained to shoot at him, which was fortunate, as he only had his knives at the moment. He could and would throw them to good use, but bringing a knife to a gun fight was never a good idea.

Staying low he gestured for Rook to move up while he kept his eyes on the end of the corridor. If anyone was going to take a shot from around it, he would be able to see them first and warn his brother.

Knowing there was no need for so flashy an entrance, Rook contented himself with simply hugging the wall. The dead guards brought a passing smile to his face. Once he noticed that the fallen soldiers still had their weapons the smile came back, wider than before. He moved forward to collect the pistols and froze. Before he had been focused on threat assessment, but now his attention was caught by something totally unexpected.

"Holy shit, is that who I think it is?" Rook completely forgot about maintaining silence as he looked at the very pregnant woman sprawled against the wall. Her head was down but he could see the curve of those high cheekbones, black hair up in its habitual bun.

"Moira," the whisper was hoarse with a combination of grief and hope.

Nottingham pushed past Rook and knelt at the side of his lost love. This was why he had not recognized Moira's scent. She was pregnant... and something else. The bastards had been injecting her with the same chemicals as the Black Dragons.

Almost afraid to believe the evidence of his eyes, Ian cupped Moira's cheek. His other hand smoothed over the swollen belly. Nottingham closed his eyes for a moment as the reality of the situation sank in. She was alive. It wasn't some dream or trick of the senses.

The tranquilizer dart was pulled carefully out of Burke's thigh and Nottingham lifted her gently in his arms. Rook looked at them, putting one and one together. "I know now isn't the best time to ask this but, can I be best man?"

Ian gave a surprised snort of laughter. "Moira has to say yes first."

"You got any reason to believe she won't? I don't." Rook arched a brow

"Never think you have a woman figured out my friend, especially not this one." Nottingham shook his head slightly. How could he explain that his own father had likely been behind the doctor's kidnapping?

He would not put it past Irons to have lied and told Moira that he knew where she was. Burke might very well hate him after all these months of captivity. If she did, Nottingham would deserve it for leaving her here. His lady had needed him, and he had failed her.

Ian would not let her down again. He was going to get her out of here, and God help anyone who got in his way.

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A/N: Thanks to everyone who has so patiently waited on me to stop fooling with Destiny and come back to this.


	72. Free at Last

BDP

Burke woke to the urgent press of her bladder. The triplets were already taking up more than their fair share of space, packing organs tight against one another until it seemed like she was spending most of her day going to the commode. It was such a routine thing at this point that she had taken several steps before realizing she was wading through grass as high as her chest.

She froze in confusion. The last thing Moira remembered was the fight with Casca in the hallway. The bastard had her shot with a tranquilizer, so why wasn't she back in her cell? She didn't think, even with the enhancement drugs they had been giving her, that she could have made it out of the complex in that state.

"Good morning, Doc," the voice was one she had never thought to hear again.

"Good morning. Mobius," Burke turned with a smile, the last vestiges of sleep pushed aside by joy. The Dragons had chewed through Casca's security, just like she had thought they would, and escaped the compound. They must have found her along their way out.

"How are you feeling?" Moby asked in that rich, rumbled tone that put one in mind of a sated leopard.

"Bloated, clumsy, and I have to take a piss." Moira grinned at him through the whole list of complaints. "But other than that, pretty damn good."

Mobius laughed at her response, pleased to see that her incarceration had not broken her spirit. "We dug a latrine over behind that rock. As soon as you're done we'll fill it in and get moving."

"Thanks," Burke waddled toward the rock, calling back over her shoulder, "Where is everybody else?"

"Scouting or hunting. We have rations but I'd prefer not to rely on them."

"You just don't want to eat them. An M.R.E. is better than shoe leather, but not by much." Burke couldn't blame him for that; she didn't particularly want to eat them either.

"That too," Moby replied, scanning the area. He had some questions, and he wasn't sure he wanted an audience.

Burke finally came back around the rock asking, "What is our status?"

"Better than you might think, but I would have been happier if we could have blown the lab. It would have muddied our back-trail considerably." Mobius shook his head regretfully.

"Yeah, I'm sure they've told whoever was in charge that everything is FUBAR." The thought of Casca cringing his way through that explanation made her smile, but the inevitable outcome of that conversation killed the momentary mirth. "They'll have teams out hunting us, they'll have to. If we get back Stateside, this cover-up will blow up in their faces."

"And just who is 'they' Doctor?"

"We both know our branch of the service is in this up to their eyeballs. I have to assume that they will be out looking for us, even if it's only under the cover of our 'not reporting' or some such excuse." Moira prevaricated. Maybe those months of captivity had made her unnecessarily paranoid, but she just couldn't bring herself to give away too much.

Mobius gave her a disappointed look. He knew that as well as she did. "Yes, but those were not our people back there. The rampant inefficiency suggests a civilian outfit."

"Of course it was. Plausible deniability is imperative in this sort of situation." Burke shrugged, "I'm sure the security forces at the compound were all local muscle. Our government would never be so crass as to be caught holding a pregnant woman captive."

Mobius nodded his understanding of her point, and moved on to something he stood a chance of getting a straight answer for. "What happened to you?"

Burke looked away, wondering where to begin and trying to marshal her thoughts. "That's a long story. Maybe we should wait until the others are back so I can just tell it once."

"It might be better if I heard it first." His reply was very firm.

"Why?" Moira raised a brow, "Are you planning to censor me?"

"No, but I need to know if I'm going to have to restrain Nottingham from going back and tearing the compound brick from brick."

Burke stared at him in silence, surprised by the depth of concern. "What do you think happened to me?"

"After a week of searching, a body was found with your dog tags." Moby paused for effect, "The corpse had been tortured and mutilated beyond making any other form of identification."

"Ah, well it was nothing as terrible as that." Moira shivered for a moment, wondering by how narrow a margin she had escaped such a fate.

"Doc, you don't have to think of some way to pretty it up for me. I could hardly miss the fact that you are pregnant and missing two fingers from each hand." Mobius took her hands in his, turning them to see the rings of scarring around each wrist.

"Frostbite," Burke answered the unspoken question.

"The cold can do many things, but I have never heard it put forth as an explanation for pregnancy." Moby's lips curled up in a humorless grimace.

"I was pregnant before they took me." Moira chuckled, a sound as devoid of mirth as Mobius' grin. "In retrospect, that's probably why I was abducted."

"So Nottingham," Mobius could not quite bring himself to say the words.

"Is the father, yes," Burke finished the question for him.

Moby nodded, it made perfect sense. The scientists had been actively trying to breed the Dragons, although no one was quite sure to what end. Thanks to the quick thinking of the woman next to him, they had kept that from happening. "If you were planning to abort, you might not want to tell Nottingham that the babe is his."

"That would be babes, plural, as in triplets, and no; I was not planning to abort." Burke had given the option thought after they had begun pumping drugs into her system. In the end she had decided that the only way she would take such a path would be if something on the tests conclusively showed that the children's brains had been damaged by the chemicals to the level of non-viability.

"Triplets?" One of the Dragons came out of the brush to Burke's left. Lee had clearly been on a supply run, as there were papayas poking out of his pack and manioc braided by their leaves and stuck through his belt.

"Unfortunately, yes. Three times the weight gain, three times the hormones, and three times the weird food cravings." Moira gave a heartfelt sigh, "Do you have any idea how much it sucks to crave Chinese food, pickles, and raspberry filled donuts when you can't get them?"

"Do you want them all at once?" Lee looked appalled.

"Yes, and don't start." Burke grumbled, knowing full well that if she hadn't been pregnant, she would have thought it disgusting too.

"Well it's not what you're craving, but I did find some Camu-camu." Lee shrugged out of his pack, set it down, and dug past the papaya. He came up with a greenish plum-sized fruit and handed it to her.

"I thought these only grew near water?" Moira asked as she took the Camu-camu.

"There's a pretty good sized river about two clicks back that way," Lee pointed with his machete, and then settled down to chop one of the manioc roots.

As Burke ate the fruit, which was higher in vitamin C than a lemon, the rest of the team trickled in with smiles and welcomes. Soon everyone was back. Everyone that is, except Nottingham.


	73. Beyond Map and Chart

Beyond Map and Chart

Ian stood just at the edge of the meeting place, watching but afraid to join. His thoughts had been divided between his beloved and his duties all day. An unknown sedative given to a pregnant woman who was already being injected with a very specific chemical compound just seemed like a recipe for disaster. When she had slept so deeply, completely undisturbed by their running fight out of the compound, it had fueled his fears.

How could anyone sleep through a concussion grenade without being in bad shape? Yet he could see that Moira was finally awake, and she did not appear to be suffering any ill effects from the sedative. He watched with quiet longing as she smiled and moved among his brothers.

Nottingham could not help wondering if she would have a smile for him. So much had changed, she had been through so much, and it was his fault she had suffered these many months. Moira would be well within her rights to never speak to him again. Hell, she probably wanted to kick his ass.

Standing here did nothing but delay the inevitable. Moira hated him or she didn't. He would have to understand and respect her choice if she did. Bracing himself for the worst, Nottingham stepped out of concealment.

"Ian," Her voice was soft, barely a whisper of sound, but he heard her. Wonder of wonders, she didn't sound angry, and the face she turned to him held only joy.

He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. Nottingham was overcome with all the emotion roaring through him, relief, love, possession, fear of losing her again, and underneath everything a smoldering anger at the injustices done to them all.

It took Ian several minutes to find his voice again, and even then it was nothing but a choked whisper, "I thought I had lost you."

"No chance of that, accushla." Burke paused, savoring the bliss of being held, and then added the caveat, "Somebody is going to have to change the diapers, and it isn't going to be me."

Her comment surprised a laugh out of him. Nottingham leaned back slightly so he could look Moira in the face. "After all the disgusting chemicals you handle every day, you balk at diapers?"

"You better believe it," She nodded so vigorously that her hair began to slide out of its impromptu bun.

Looking down into blue eyes that sparkled with mirth, Ian felt another upwelling of love for Moira, "I missed you," he dropped his head and brushed his lips over hers, "so much."

"Mmmmm," Burke hummed in agreement as the kiss deepened, as her lips had more important things to do than speak.

Months of separation and suffering only made their reunion sweeter. Nottingham pulled her closer, hands moving over her shoulders and back, confirming that she was real and not just another dream.

The rest of the team watched the extended embrace with varying degrees of amusement and consternation. Finally Mobius cleared his throat with an exaggerated "Harrumph," which brought the two back into awareness of something outside each other.

Burke shifted around and to the side so that they were both looking at the grinning Dragons. "What?" She asked, fighting not to laugh at their faces.

"Report," Mobius cut over the comments and questions that his teammates began to fire off.

"There was nothing on our back-trail yet, they seemed more concerned with the hash our good padre made of the south wall." Ian's comment was greeted with good natured ribbing of Father Allen's decision to cover their escape by blowing the small ammunition shed there to Hell and gone.

It was the last bit of fun the Dragons had for a while. They were in enemy territory and traveled accordingly. The food that Lee had brought back was supplemented with anything foraged along the way, but they did not take the time out to actively hunt. They needed to cover a lot of ground, and Burke was slowing them down too much as it was.

Not that they blamed her, being pregnant was not something she could do anything about, but they were falling about ten miles short of what Mobius had projected that they needed to cover a day. Their lead was being whittled away, and they all knew it. Tension tightened shoulders and frayed nerves as the Dragons imagined their pursuers closing in on them.

Walking for four all day left Moira exhausted, but not too tired to notice. Sitting on a rock, massaging swollen ankles, she watched the looks and the hand signals, fingers flicking sharply with irritation or nervousness. It had been years since basic training, and even then they had only gone over the most simple of signals, so she had no idea what they were signing, but she knew it had to be about her.

Were they regretting rescuing her? Were they debating leaving the slowpoke behind? Those bastards! Burke continued to watch them through her eyelashes, anger tinting her thoughts with red. She'd like to see how they'd do under the same conditions. Maybe she should cut one of them open and shove their organs around to make space for a nice big rock.

"How are you holding up Moira?" Ian asked softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tilting her back against his chest.

Burke jumped as if stung, pulling away from his affectionate hold. "Just fine, thank you very much."

Her voice was an angry hiss that granted her instant space, and blessed silence. Even the fingers stopped wagging. Pleased with the result, but still angry with them all for wanting to abandon her, Burke went to lay down and give the small of her back a much deserved break.

Nottingham watched her go, wondering what he had done wrong.

"None for you tonight," Rook shook his head, his tone a mix of sympathy and amusement.

"None for me," Ian began to ask, figuring out what he wasn't getting half way through his question. "Brother, try none for me for another six months."

Lee winced. "Ouch. What did you say to her?"

"I just asked if she was all right. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. She's obviously sensitive about the fact that she's having trouble keeping up." Nottingham sighed and stared at the shadowy patch of ground that his beloved had chosen for her rest.

"I think it is both more and less than that." Mobius mused.

"What do you mean?" Ian looked up at the taller man in surprise.

"Remember what happened to us when they cut back our dosage?" Mobius arched a brow.

"How could I forget?" Nottingham remembered those dark days all too well.

"Consider then that the good doctor has been completely cut off from the drug for at least three days, maybe longer if she was not receiving daily injections. Couple that with her pregnancy, and you must arrive at the inevitable conclusion: Burke is going to suffer as much or more than we did." Moby also watched that patch of darkness, but his face was considerably graver.

'What about the babies?' Beck signed, wondering but not wanting to give voice to what they were all thinking.

"It is possible that she may lose them, especially with our forced pace." Regret passed over their leader's face as he answered Beck aloud.

"Then we should hole up somewhere; give her a chance to recover." Ian said firmly.

"Consider our fate, if we were caught." Moby put a supportive hand on Nottingham's shoulder as he gave the younger man the bitter truth. "We would die, and she would spend the remainder of her life in a cage. Your children would grow up as slaves. No, my brother, we dare not stop."

"We don't have any way to synthesize the drug, even if we knew what it was, which we don't. Even if we didn't get caught, the Doc could go barking mad out here and there wouldn't be anything we could do for her." Taurins pointed out.

"What if Moira goes into early labor?" Nottingham asked; visions of her bleeding and screaming with contractions danced through his head. Women died in childbirth, Irons had told him that his mother had died birthing him. He did not want to lose Moira the way he had lost his mother.

"If she begins spotting, we could take turns carrying her, and if it came right down to it labor and birthing were part of the Paramedic training. I can play catcher if I have to." Taurins looked at Ian, amused to note he was slightly green.

"Unless or until such a time, gods forbid, we must watch her. I'm sure all present recall the Darkness that withdrawal sent us into." Mobius settled a warning stare on each man in turn, ending on Ian. "Do you understand?"

"I understand." Nottingham replied grimly. Moira could turn on them, paranoid delusions painting them the enemy. She might just run from them, but given her nature it was unlikely that she would flee leaving them unscathed. He hoped they were wrong, but he knew better than to trust to hope.


	74. Sliding Down the Slippery Slope

A/N: Soon enough for you Moon?

"Do you need to stop?" Ian asked quietly as Moira slowed again. She wasn't watching where she was going, staring upward at the trees instead.

"Passiflora," Moira dropped her eyes to his and smiled as if she had just been given a wonderful present. "I had been hoping we'd find some."

Unfortunately, Ian did not find himself similarly enlightened, "Passiflora?"

"One of the chemicals that we used to help stabilize the Black Dragons when we discovered that changing the dosages had had a negative effect was chrysin. Chrysin is found in Passiflora, more commonly known as passion flower. Now botany isn't my specialty, but that looks like a passionflower to me." Burke pointed to the woody vine that wound around the bole of a tree ahead of them.

"Are you sure?" Ian gave the plant another look. The vine sported flowers that were large and pinkish-white, with brilliant purple centers, and a few small lemon-sized green fruits.

"Pretty sure," Moira shrugged, "But I only checked into passion fruits as a curiosity after finding out that chrysin and serotonin are present in the plant. If you'll cut one of the fruits in half, I can find out if I'm wrong. The guts are pretty distinctive."

Ian plucked a fruit as requested, but decided to show off a little. He tossed it in the air and cut it in half with his machete. He caught the two halves without dropping his blade, and held them out for inspection.

"Show off," Moira muttered before examining the yellow pulp inside the split. It looked the same to her. She took the half from the hand that still held the machete and raised it up to sniff. It smelled ok, so she stuck a finger in the gelatinous mass and raised it to her lips to taste.

She closed her eyes, the better to concentrate on the flavor, and slid the digit in her mouth. It tasted sweet, like the passionflower sherbet that had sometimes been served during her incarceration. Moira sucked the last bit of flavor from the tip of her finger, a quiet groan causing her eyes to open in alarm. What was wrong?

Ian stared down at her, eyes dark with desire, lips parted, and muscles taut with obvious restraint. The air between them crackled with sexual tension. The fruit dropped from his hand with a muffled thump and he reached for her, wanting to feel her melt into his embrace, to kiss her senseless, to taste her…

"Get a room," Li snorted as he brushed past them, shattering the moment.

"If only I could," Ian grumbled, staring daggers at his brother's back.

"Ignore him, he's just jealous." Moira kept her voice pleasant, but the look in her eyes was calculating.

She knew more than she was letting on about Passiflora, and the idea of using it against her traveling companions was bothering her less and less. Moira stripped the vine of every leaf she could reach, as well as the fruits she would need for the chrysin.

"What's the hold-up?" Mobius had come back to see why they had stopped.

"Remember our concern about Moira going through withdrawal from the drugs?" Ian turned to his attention to the taller man.

"Yes," Had Burke finally lost her footing on the slippery slope of sanity? Moby tensed and shifted to a more defensive posture.

Ian read the change and hastened to explain, "Chrysin and serotonin are present in the fruit of Passiflora." He gestured to the plant they were standing under with his machete.

Always quick to understand, Mobius cut to the important question. "What percentage of Chrysin and serotonin?"

Burke frowned in thought for several moments and then admitted, "I'm not sure, I suspect that varies slightly with the minerals present in the soil."

"Will it be enough?" Mobius pressed.

"It's better than nothing," Burke shrugged, "and a steady diet of it may be enough to counteract the worst effects of the loss of the neural stimulants."

"I fear that it will not, especially with the natural fluctuation of hormonal output during a pregnancy." Mobius said, caution strong in his tone.

"Me too, but I'm not going to dwell on it. It's just one more source of stress, which we certainly don't need." Moira put a hand on her swollen belly for emphasis.

Moby nodded and turned to Nottingham, his fingers flicking off the signs for watch and hidden danger. He had seen the dark look in the doctor's eyes, and he was afraid it was already too late. He passed the warning among the other Dragons as he moved back into point position.

After three more grueling days of pushing through virgin jungle, it began to look like Mobius' grim prediction was wrong. The pregnant doctor had neither attacked the Dragons nor attempted to run from them. Burke had even held up better than they had expected to the pace. Sure, she did it while radiating irritation and discomfort like a small sun, but there were no more outbursts or incidents.

The Dragons stopped watching her so closely; each one quietly glad they had not been forced to restrain a pregnant woman. By the fifth day no one paid any attention to Burke's frequent pauses to empty her bladder, just slowing down until she reappeared and resuming their previous pace.

At the end of that same day one of the lead scouts returned to report a village that had not been on their maps but was right on the edge of the river ahead of them. It was small and did not appear to have electricity, but there was a small market of sorts. They could trade for food and find out a bit about the area.

If the military had correctly guessed their escape route, it was possible that the locals had seen them moving into the region. They decided to camp for the night and hit the town at dawn, so that they would have a full day to get past the village if there was trouble.

The next morning Nottingham woke with a pounding headache. The light that filtered down through the canopy seemed unnaturally bright, and he closed his eyes again with a wince. What was wrong with him? Had he picked up some virus from the jungle, either in the water or from a bite?

He almost never got sick though, not even as a child, and they had all had updated shots before going out on the mission. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Nottingham pushed up on his hands and knees. He had just enough presence of mind to realize that Moira was not beside him.


	75. A Plan Comes Together

Nottingham dragged himself upright with the help of a nearby tree trunk. The jungle seemed to spin around him as he stood. Closing his eyes did not help with the dizziness, but shutting out the light seemed to help with the headache.

How long did he stand there, bark digging into his palms? Minutes? Hours? Time lost meaning, only misery was measured in the throb of his brain. Eventually the pain lessened enough that Nottingham risked opening his eyes.

The rest of the Dragons were still sprawled around the fire pit, the remnants of breakfast lying around them. Ian staggered to Niccoli, who was closest, dropping to his knees to check the other man's vitals. Niccoli's pulse was slow, but steady.

Not wanting to stand up again, Nottingham crawled to the next man. He knocked over a nearly empty bowl as he settled next to Lee. He paused for a moment, knowing something was wrong with what he was looking at, but still hurting enough that it took time to understand what he was seeing.

The bowl held only the manioc root porridge they had been eating for breakfast every morning. It shouldn't. The local insect population was very aggressive; they should have been all over the undefended food. Given that insects ate all manner of things that humans considered 'spoiled', there was only one answer. The porridge had been poisoned.

Or should that be, 'doctored'?

Mobius had warned them all. He had said that Burke would become as unstable and delusional as they had become during the withdrawal, but Ian had not seen it. Looking back, he had to admit that he had not wanted to see it. Oh, there had been no outbursts, no assaults on the other Dragons, but Moira had never been one for physical violence. No, she preferred to use her formidable mind to achieve her ends.

It only made sense, given her psychological makeup, for Moira to plot and then wait for the opportune moment to implement her plan. With a village less than a day's hike, this was her best chance to disappear Either Moira's claim of botanical ignorance had been a sham or she had smuggled sedatives out of the lab, but the outcome was the same. They were incapacitated while she was in full possession of her facilities and running with a good lead.

"Fuuuukkk," the heartfelt but muted complaint pulled Ian away from his thoughts.

"Moby, you ok?" Ian finished checking Beck. The question was largely rhetorical. If the other man was well enough to curse than he wasn't in need of immediate attention.

"Better than most, I suspect." Mobius slowly sat up, one hand cradling his head. "I realized what the aftertaste had to be after several bites, so I didn't get the full dosage."

"Lucky you," Nottingham mumbled as he crawled to Taurins.

"That is a matter for debate; I believe I would prefer to yet be unconscious." Mobius grimaced.

"I sympathize, but we don't have that luxury. Moira is gone. I must go after her." Nottingham was already making plans to catch up with his beloved. With Mobius awake, he could go ahead and scout ahead while the others were wakened.

"Must you?" The irony was heavy in his rich voice.

"Of course I must. She needs me." Nottingham met Mobius' eyes with stubborn conviction.

Moby sighed; he was not looking forward to this discussion, especially not with the hideous pounding in his head as counterpoint. "I am not so certain of that, my friend."

"How can you say that? Moira is pregnant, thousands of miles away from anything familiar, and suffering a paranoid episode."

"She is doing well enough to flee our presence," Mobius waved aside the argument Nottingham opened his mouth to make, "Her pregnancy slowed her yes, but she still did better than most Greenies, and a certain amount of paranoia will do well to keep her alive."

"But,"

"But nothing," Mobius interrupted again. "Set your emotions aside for a moment and think logically. Our plan has been to escape and return, so that we can avenge ourselves on those who sent us to our deaths. Even should Burke choose not to come with us the entire way back into the States, the investigation following our resurrection will doubtless bring her survival to light."

"Not necessarily," Nottingham protested.

"If you had the welfare of three unborn children as your first priority, you would not trust to chance. The government faked her death once to get their hands on your progeny. Perhaps it would be best if we give credence to that particular fiction."

"You mean, let her go?" Disbelief and denial warred for dominance on his face.

"Yes." Mobius' tone softened, "We have been moving toward this day from the moment we escaped. Perhaps it is better this way; you might not have chosen to come back with us otherwise."

"I was going to ask her to marry me," Ian admitted.

"The five of you on the run, what kind of life would that have been?" Moby arched a sardonic brow.

"Better that than Moira running alone, trying to stay ahead of pursuit with three children." Ian retorted sharply.

"If we had returned without you, what do you think would have happened?"

"My father would have used every last one of his considerable resources to scour the continents until he found me." Nottingham admitted grudgingly.

"Do you see where that kind of heat could be difficult to dodge?"

"He will do no less for Moira; she is carrying the next generation of his grand scheme."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what scheme, but Moby held the question for another time. "Not if he believes she is dead."

"Without a body, he will be difficult to convince." Nottingham closed his eyes for a moment, trying to blot out the vision of his children growing up as he had.

"Not if you are convincing enough."

"I am a terrible liar."

"I know." Mobius curled a lip upward, but it was more of a grimace than smile. "We'll have to work on that."

.o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o. .o..o. .o. .o.

Listening to Taurins report on the village at the river's edge, Burke understood what she was hearing far better than the Dragons did. He mentioned mules loaded down with panniers going into the village, no one buying anything, the large dock, and she had realized just what the little market must be. It was a tourist trap.

She had heard about them from Vargas. When the steamers came up the river, they stopped and turned the Gringos loose for a few hours of shopping for local crafts. His family made better money off their weavings there than they did selling them to exporters. These 'villagers' probably didn't even live there either, as there were myriad reasons not to sleep next to the river.

It was the perfect place to disappear. Burke would wait for the next ship and go back on board with the tourists. If anyone noticed, she could just claim that she had been accidentally left behind from the previous tour. The story would be easily swallowed. After all, how else would a very pregnant white woman end up in the middle of nowhere?

Now that she had somewhere to go, it was time to enact the plan that she had been working on since she had realized that she would not go back to America with them. It was obvious that the only reason they were putting up with her slowing them down was that they wanted her children, just like Irons and Casca.

Well, they couldn't have them. They were hers. She would see them safe, raised properly in the salten air of the Hebrides and not the sterile confinement of a lab. After seeing what they had done to Ian, Burke knew she would do anything to keep the same thing from happening to her children.

She added the reduction of passionflower leaves, which she had been decocting over the last five days, to breakfast. Burke had been faking morning sickness for several days, so no one thought anything about her refusing to eat with them. She had watched as the men slowed, seen the realization on Mobius' face as he struggled to rise and failed.

She stayed just long enough to make sure no one was going to stop breathing and put out the small fire they had cooked over, and then left. The scientist in her had not been pleased with the amount of guesswork involved in the dosage required to sedate the Dragons with the maltol. An overdose could kill as quickly as a hungry jaguar, which was partially why she had chosen breakfast to drug them.

The only predators that would be dangerous to humans were nocturnal, and despite everything she did not wish them dead. The other reason for breakfast was that it gave her more daylight to run. Sneaking off in the night was just plain stupid, and giving them a strong enough dose that they would sleep both night and day away could result in them not waking at all.

Burke slipped through the foliage, determined to make the most of her lead. She couldn't depend on the effects of the maltol lasting past noon. Half a day wasn't much of a head start for a pregnant woman, but if she had timed it right, six hours lead was all she would need.

She heard the village before she could see it, the call of the barkers carrying clearly through the mid-morning air. When Burke came to the top of the hill she was relieved, not only to see the village, but to see she had been correct in her assumptions. Scattered amid the dark-skinned natives were the pale northern tourists. She had never been so glad to see those ambassadors of capitalism in her life.

The market was bustling with activity; no one noticed that she joined the shopping from the jungle instead of the wharf. Burke cheerfully haggled for camouflaging souvenirs, also buying several embroidered smocks and skirts that would go with her pregnancy corset.

The clothes that she had escaped with were much the worse for wear after her time spent roughing it. What she was wearing now was the best of the lot. She had left the rest behind so it wouldn't slow her down.

Burke merged with the other tourists as the ship's whistle blew, summoning them back to the dock. She made sure to strike up a conversation with one of the older couples, pretending to listen as they bragged about their grandchildren, but most of her attention was on her surroundings.

They made it up the gangplank unchallenged, but Burke continued to scan the tree line for Dragons until the village disappeared around the river bend. She had gotten away clean, so why wasn't she happy?

Blaming pregnancy hormones for her depression, Burke went to find the lavatory. Getting cleaned up ought to lift her spirits.


	76. Back to Civilization

The river spread out behind the ship like a dull green ribbon. Moira watched the water while listening to the various conversations going on around her. One couple was talking about the wildlife, a cluster of women were bragging about their 'bargains', their husbands were off in another group complaining about all the bags they were going to have to carry.

From overheard comments, Moira knew that the next stop was their last. It had been peaceful and easy, riding the current instead of pushing through the brush, these last few days. She had needed the respite, sleeping through much of this leg of her journey, but was looking forward to putting the next step of her plan into action.

As they came around a bend in the river, their final destination came into sight. The port was large; three times the size of any of their other stops. Moira breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't recognized the city name when she'd heard it earlier and had been afraid the town would be too underdeveloped to have connection with the outside world.

The tourists began to drift toward the gangplank. Moira waited in the back, knowing those first off would get the worst of the begging, pushy merchants, and the pick-pockets. Besides, there was no reason for her to rush. It was early afternoon. She would get the best results if she showed up much closer to dusk.

Finally the way was clear. Moira shouldered her bags and wandered through the shopping district, her seemingly random meanderings were construed to flush out or lose any tail. After two hours she was fairly certain that she was not being followed, so she hailed a taxi.

"Where to Senora?" the driver's English was heavily accented, but still understandable.

"Where do all the Americans stay?" Moira grinned, giving her question a joking inflection.

"I should have guessed." He snorted and turned his attention back to the road. "Only an Americano would be out shopping alone when they're about to..." He trailed off as if he couldn't think of the word.

"Pop?" Moira chuckled, playing the senseless tourist to the hilt. "I had a craving, and then decided to pick up some gifts. I'd like there to be some surprises under the Christmas tree this year."

"Whatever you say, Senora," He shook his head and kept his silence until they pulled up in front of a tall white hotel, with tasteful landscaping that almost managed to distract one from the fact that the architecture was wildly incongruent with the surrounding buildings.

"That'll be fifteen pesos,"

"Hey, American, not stupid," Moira retorted, "That was hardly worth five."

"Five? My children would starve if I were to accept such a miserly sum. Thirteen,"

"You can feed an entire army for a month on thirteen pesos. Unless you're as fecund as a rabbit, there's no way you need that much food. Eight,"

"Did you just insult muy machismo? I have eleven children! All of them boys," his chest puffed out in pride.

"Eleven? I am impressed. Your wife must be an amazing woman," Moira replied, tongue in cheek, "Then eleven it is, but only if you'll carry my bags to the elevator for me."

"Done and done," he put the taxi in park and hopped out.

Moira passed him her shopping and used the doorframe to pull herself out of the car. The two of them breezed by the check-in desk and headed straight to the burnished steel doors of the elevators. The clerk never even looked at them, completely engrossed in the soap opera that was playing on the little television she had behind the counter.

They parted ways at the elevator, and Moira pressed the button for the top floor. After visiting three floors she saw what she was looking for, a maid's cart. It was nothing to wait until the roar of a vacuum announced that the cleaning woman was going to be occupied for a while and read her work chart. If she were interpreting the marks on the sheet correctly, there were two rooms vacant on this floor. Moira 'borrowed' the master key off the side of the cart and went to check her theory.

A turn of the key and a quick survey of the room showed it to be empty, so Moira left the door open and hustled to put the keys back before the maid finished cleaning. She probably could have afforded a room for the night, but there was no telling how long it would take her to get out of the country.

Plan for the worst, and you'll come out the best, her Granny had always said. With that bit of sound advice in mind, Moira wedged a chair under the doorknob and went to take a shower. A good night's sleep and she would be off to find the nearest British Consulate.

Since the more remote areas of Ireland tended to paper registration at the church, all Moira had to do was create a believably bogus identity and claim her passport had been stolen. Being pregnant with triplets made it look like she was much further along than she was. All she had to do was pretend to be experiencing labor pains and they would hustle her back to Ireland.

That was one of the more interesting things about Irish law, a child born to Irish parents on foreign soil was not automatically an Irish citizen, but would have to petition for residence and citizenship. The law was not popular, and it would take a hard man indeed to ignore the tearful pleadings of a soon-to-be mother who didn't want her offspring considered a foreign national.

The only part of the plan she was having trouble with was the whereabouts of her fictitious husband. She couldn't have him dead or incapacitated somewhere; that would raise too many questions.

Perhaps an archeologist? They were notoriously self-absorbed and tended to ignore the right now in favor of the distant past. No, all dig sites had to be authorized by the local government. It would be too easy to check her story out and find out it was bogus.

What about a botanist? He could be out in the field gathering specimens, and her pains had started earlier than they were supposed to? She could claim that she had left him a message at his base camp, and had every confidence he would follow just as soon as he returned, but she couldn't wait for him.

That might work better for her, as Moira could talk enough about plant research, and what it entailed, to throw off any suspicion. Not to mention, she could invent her base camp somewhere damn inconvenient to get to, which would virtually ensure that no one would bother to try and contact her 'husband'.


	77. Lying for Dummies

BDP: Lying for Dummies

"What is this?" Lee dangled a dirty sock in Nottingham's face.

"It's a sock." Nottingham looked surprised to be asked.

"No it isn't." Lee frowned at the wrong answer. Honestly, what was wrong with the man?

"It's not?" Nottingham asked, clearly bewildered.

"No. It was a liar pop-quiz, and you just failed. Try again, and remember our previous lessons." Lee waved the sock for emphasis. "What is this?"

Nottingham hated to lie, even on something as small as this, and it showed in the painful hesitation before he answered, "A carrot?"

"Have you listened to a word I've said?" Lee looked heavenward for patience. It felt like he was beating his head against a wall. Most people lied with varying levels of aptitude, and those skills could be improved upon rather easily, but it was as if Nottingham had never even acquired the basics.

"Of course I have. I just lied didn't I? That is NOT a carrot." Nottingham said indignantly.

"No, it isn't. But telling an obvious falsehood is not the problem here. You need to tell a believable lie. Try again, and remember to be assertive. Tell me it's a carrot, don't ask me if I think it's a carrot."

Ian looked down, unable to meet Lee's eyes as he spoke. "It's a carrot."

"Honestly Nottingham, the rules for successful lying are simple. Look them in the eye, never hesitate, and keep your lie as close to the truth as possible." Lee reiterated, for what felt like the thousandth time.

"If that isn't an option, make your lie so outrageous that they think it has to be the truth." Rook added helpfully.

Most of the Dragons had taken turns working on Nottingham's non-existent dissembling abilities since Burke had pulled a Houdini, to no good effect. As the days ran before and behind them with unending sameness, it seemed like they had forever to teach the strangely innocent man. They didn't, but it would be an easy mistake to make.

Each day put them closer to their destination and discovery. If Nottingham couldn't lie, and it was starting to look that way, then Burke's survival was going to come out. When that happened, the shit was going to hit the fan, and not just for the fugitive physician.

The Brass would want that particular black eye planted on someone else, and the Black Dragons would be the perfect patsies. After all, the Powers That Be had already written them off. What was dishonorable discharge or prison time after the decision to have them neutralized?

"I think you guys are going about this the wrong way." Nicoli interdicted during a verbal lull.

"You've got a better idea? Cause right now I'd even take a bad one." Lee rolled his eyes.

"Possibly. Look, it's become painfully clear that Nottingham can't lie to save his life." Nicoli paused for all the muttered agreement on that point.

"So?" Lee arched a brow.

"So don't ask him to." Nicoli shrugged.

"What?" It was so counter to the last few days' focus that it took Lee a minute to process the comment. Just what was Nicoli thinking?

"He can't lie, but I'll bet he can self-edit like a motherfucker." Nicoli's grin could only be described as shit-eating.

"And that helps us how?" Beck chimed in with the question on everyone's mind.

"Because of what would happen if anyone ever found out Burke survived, he can't ever seek her out, it is as if she is dead to him." Nicoli pointed out.

"Were you sleepwalking through the first two days of this? Nottingham couldn't say she was dead. Well, not believably anyway," Rook shook his head.

"That's why we're working on the basics here." Lee sighed. "Hate to disappoint you."

"It's not that. Not exactly," Nicoli leaned forward with the air of a guru imparting the secret of the universe. "If he can't bring himself to say she is dead, perhaps he could tell them she is lost to him. It is true, so he wouldn't have any trouble saying it, and most would assume he meant dead."

"Ok, I can see that. Semantics are wonderful things. But I don't think that's going to be enough." Rook shrugged, and then had to resettle his rifle strap as it shifted with the movement.

"Ah, but if he is pressed, he can continue to tell other painful truths. He will never see his children grow up; he will never hold them, that kind of thing. Spread some guilt, a dash of blame, and add a heaping helping of the silent treatment, and you've got yourself out of answering anything you don't want to. All without lying."

Mobius looked at Nicoli with respect. "It might work. It just might work."

"Of course it will. You just gotta play to your strengths," Nicoli nodded sagely.


	78. Going to Ground

BDP: Going to Ground

Moira shuffled through what she had always thought of as the cattle shoot at Cork International. She was pitiably glad for the remnants of chivalry that allowed pregnant women to debark first. She had to pee. Again.

Spending so much time sitting with her feet low had made her ankles swell. As for what those miserable chairs had done to her back, the less said, the better. Honestly, she had felt better trekking through the jungle.

Various aches aside, everything was going better than she had any right to expect. The Consulate had bought her story without more than a cursory check into their records to make sure that Dymphna O'Dubhthaigh existed, which, since the name belonged to a childhood neighbor, she knew did. Besides, who expected a hugely pregnant woman to lie? They had issued her a new passport and hustled her on the next flight to Ireland.

After a quick stop in the powder room, including a change of clothes and hairstyle, Moira caught the bus to Dublin. The ride wasn't long, but buying the ticket for the second leg of her journey took enough time that she almost missed the sleeper ferry to Scotland.

Moira had planned it to be close, since anyone following her would have to scramble like she had. It was a good way to flush out anyone tailing her. Not that she had any reason to believe she had been followed this far, but paranoia was more than just a state of mind, it had to be her way of life.

That same paranoia prompted Moira to visit an obstetrician in busy Edinburgh, rather than one nearer to where she had decided to settle. Always, of course, assuming there was one where she was going. The isle of Barra was small, four miles wide and eight miles long; one could walk from one end to the other in a day. Not the likeliest of places for a specialist physician to hang out a shingle.

Despite it's diminutive size, Barra possessed an airstrip and there were several ferry stops, all heading for varied locations. It would be easy to disappear, should it became necessary. Another plus, the language of the island was Gaelic. Any ferrylouper, as the islanders called the visitors, asking about her would get the run-around.

If whoever Irons hired even got this far, which was doubtful. Sure they would look here, they had to suspect she would go to ground where she knew the territory. Which was why she had not gone to Ireland or Skye, they were too obvious.

Excluding those two locations still left literally hundreds of islands that a fugitive could be on. Searching for a dark-haired widow with children wouldn't narrow the field any. Not here. The majority of the locals livelihood was the sea, and the water was as inclined to take as to give.

Despite the ferocity of the winter storms, there was no doubt in Moira's mind that the children would love it here. There were whales and seals to watch and miles of pristine beach for building sand castles. When that paled, one could turn inland to explore the Neolithic circles and barrows.

There were other ancient settlements here as well. It had been put forth lately that Barra might be the island Jason and his Argonauts had visited. It was also the starting point for Grettir's Saga, a Norse tale that bore striking resemblance to Beowulf. Wouldn't that fire a boy's imagination, especially if they inherited their father's love of history? There was even a castle for her little knights to clamber around in.

The image of three dark-haired hoydens storming Kisimul Castle brought a soft smile to her lips. In her mind she could see Ian directing the charge, blending play with tactical training.

It was part of why she had chosen this island, the fact that Ian would have loved it here. All the things he should have done as a child, the freedoms, love, and laughter that he should have had, their children would have.

It was the only gift she had left to give him.

Moira had wanted so much for them. She had wanted to show Ian everything he had missed, wanted to watch the delight move across his face. But the real world had damn all to do with dreams and wishes.

Moira laid a protective hand over her stomach, silently vowing to do everything she could to keep the children safe from the forces that had torn apart her world. It would be difficult to accomplish alone, but she couldn't risk contacting her family. Sure as anything, they were being watched.

Which was why she would be calling cousin Owain, who had been socking her retirement funds away in the Bank of Lloyd, and not her parents. Even if she could get a message through without it being intercepted, Mom wasn't good at dissembling. Da would be fine; he liked beatin' the pants off his mates at the weekly poker game, but Mom… What she felt showed on her face as clear as day.

Moira hated leaving her parents to grieve for another daughter, dear God they must be miserable, but the alternative would alert anyone who cared to look. Better her folks grieve once than to lose their youngest child a second, and probably painfully final, time.

The fact that there would be Hell to pay if Mom found out her baby girl had been alive all this time, and nobody had told her, had nothing to do with it. Really. The guilt would only be an order of magnitude (or two) above the time Moira had forgotten to call home on Mom's birthday. No big deal.

Moira nearly choked on the snort. Nobody did guilt like her mother, and Mom would bring it up every time she wanted her daughter to do something. Sure, Mom would get over it eventually. Like in a hundred years. Talk about the ultimate stick. But she'd take every lecture about her iniquity with good grace if it meant she could go home again.


	79. Free Ride

BDP: Free Ride

"Are you sure about this?" Nottingham stared at the approaching naval vessels.

"It's the best of a slew of bad options." Moby leaned against the railing of the ratty little fishing boat they had commandeered. "The NCIS have offices here, and the Navy is getting global media coverage of their rescue efforts. We'll be damn hard to make disappear after this."

"You almost want to thank the new Haitian government for being such a bunch of assholes that their citizens are leaving by the thousands." Beck gestured to the refugee vessels that shared the waves with them.

"Makes me want to take a detour. Give their presidente a whole new understanding of the limitations of the phrase 'Dictator for life'." Rook scowled at the raft nearest them.

The Haitian family in it had been taking turns bailing since yesterday. The Dragons had tried to help them, but the poor people had nearly capsized their boat trying to get away from them. It made Rook wonder what kind of world they were escaping, that the offer of help was met with such fear and mistrust.

"Yeah, poor bastards. I hope Lady Liberty left the light on, Immigration is gonna be busy." Taurins sat on a crate facing the stern, fingers flying over his sketchpad as he captured the view behind them. Ships scattered across charcoal waves like beads from a broken necklace.

"They aren't the only ones. A lot of these people are going to need medical attention." Niccoli rubbed a hand over his face. "Dehydration, poor nutrition, it'll be a wonder if the Corpsmen will have enough hands."

"It is unfortunate for them," Mobius nodded, "For us, it is a blessing."

"How can you say that?" Lee shook his head.

"Because they will not look too closely at us. Routine physical would be my guess, but nothing beyond that."

"You don't want an unbiased medical opinion of what the experimentation has done to us?" Beck stared at their leader in confusion.

Moby returned his look with annoyance. "What do you think they'll do if they find out we've been hard-wired? That the aggression, the violence, the almost uncontrollable reactions we have to stimuli that the rest of the world never even sees can not be turned off?"

"I would expect a little understanding. You guys aren't any different from dealing with one of the LRRPers after they've been in the field." Father Allen grumbled, feeling protective of his unusual flock.

"Larper?" Niccoli asked from the wheel.

Allen shook his head, "You really are a puppy, aren't you? LLRP. Stands for long-range reconnaissance patrol. Trust me, when the boys came in they were as jumpy you lot."

"But they eventually settled down. We won't," Beck objected.

"You don't know that for sure." Taurins flipped his sketchbook closed with a snap.

Beck arched a brow, "I don't?"

"Our thoughts shape our universe. If that is what you believe, then it will be true for you." Nottingham quietly cautioned.

"It's not my thoughts, it's the damn drugs." Beck threw his hands in the air.

"Which we have not received for weeks." Taurins stood, posture combative.

"That isn't necessarily a good thing, remember?" Niccoli moved between the two.

"So far, no seizure." Rook pointed out cheerfully, as if the tension would disappear if ignored.

"Yeah, but you could've had a psychotic episode and no one would have noticed the difference." Beck shot back.

"Love you too," Rook made kissy noises.

"Enough clowning." Mobius let his eyes pass over each soldier in turn, gathering their attention. "We did not discuss this, as I did not feel there was anything to discuss. I do not believe we will benefit from being subject to another battery of tests, but I am willing to entertain any serious arguments for them."

"I still say we get the tests done by a neutral party. Better to find out what's been done for sure than wonder how much you've been lied to." Beck redirected his aggression toward the team leader.

"Perhaps. But they will not have access to the same equipment as they used in the lab, so their data will be incomplete. Nor do we have a way to control who they will share the information they do acquire with. The trade-off would be less than ideal."

"Yeah well, you're forgetting that we want exposure. The more people who know about us, the harder it will be to sweep us under the rug again."

"More of the right people," Moby gave Beck a gimlet glare, "And that does not include other Black Ops recruiters."

Beck clapped both hands over his chest. "Ouch, true. So what? We admit to being a new kind of Special Forces unit that, for reasons unknown, our superiors decided to write off in the most ballsy 'training accident' ever?"

"Sounds like we're a huge fuckin' discipline problem don't it?" Rook drawled.

"Or an even more poorly-than-usual researched episode of JAG." Taurins gave a negligent half-shrug.

"Hey, I like that show!" Li objected.

"So? You like A-Team reruns too." Taurins clearly felt that said it all.

"Come on, how can you not like a show that flips a car in every episode?" Li defended his show with a self-effacing grin.

"We're getting off point here." Mobius growled.

"We had a point? I thought we were waffling." Rook rolled his eyes.

"Like an IHOP." Niccoli agreed.

"You were. We were trying to have an eleventh hour discussion over here." Beck pointed to the joint task force. "The Navy boys are getting closer. We've got to get our stories straight before they separate us, and you know they will at some point, so lets get this done."

"Right. The big question is; how much do we tell them?" Niccoli asked the question everyone had been thinking.

Mobius took a moment to meet the eyes of each member of his team, drawing them in, "You tell them your rank and serial number. You can tell them that we were on a training exercise. If they want anything else, they can talk to me."

"Just like that?" Beck challenged.

"We are a team, not a democracy." Moby stepped into the other man's space and stared down at him. "You do what I say, when I say, how I say, or I bust your ass. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Beck grumbled, lowering his eyes first.

"Good." Mobius looked at the other Dragons, searching for any sign of dissent. There was none. Which was good, because the Navy was deploying the first wave of chauffeurs. Time, which had plodded so slowly of late, was about to accelerate to manic speed.

And so it did. The rescue, the physicals, the debriefing, all passed in a whirl of noise and light. Political eyes were blackened, names were called, but when the dust settled the Dragons were right back where they started. Oh, the lab might be at a new location, and they might have new officers to 'sir', but they were still considered too dangerous to know.

That was fine with them. It was true, after all.

The Black Dragons were sent on difficult missions, the kind that usually incurred heavy casualties on both sides, and came back to a man. For a time, their successes ran neck-and-neck with their notoriety.

But nothing lasts forever.


End file.
